


And All That Jazz

by myriadofcolors37



Series: All That Jazz [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Bootleggers, Caleb adopts Nott, Caleb typical backstory trauma, Caleb's Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Church setting, Dancehalls, Inexplicably Magical New York, It gets fixed though they talk it out it's just like pulling teeth., Jazz Age, Jazz Age AU, Jazz Age Violence, Kidnapped, M/M, Miscommunication, Montreal, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Pining, Slow Burn, Soldiers, Trains, Violent Death, WW1, War, World War I, child kidnapping, detective work is more on par with Brooklyn 99 don't @ me, ex-soldier Caleb, if you need more tags DO let me know!, pizza!, suicidal character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-04-08 15:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14108913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriadofcolors37/pseuds/myriadofcolors37
Summary: Caleb Widogast, PI, is called into the Fletching And Moondrop club to help solve a problem with Mollymauk, the club's lead singer and famous flirt.





	1. It Don't Mean a Thing (If It Ain't Got That Swing)

**Author's Note:**

> I spent a lot of time rewriting and writing the setting, because I wasn't sure if I should do human or everyone is just living in magical NYC. Anyways, have fun with your inexplicably magic NYC! Complainers that I didn't stick to historical settings can fight me in hell.

Art by the fabulous [Internet Feet/ Kawaii-Rookie](http://kawaii-rookie.tumblr.com/)

The rain slicked down on the pavement, casting a dreary look on an already cheerless street. The new electric lamps were already buzzing on, casting oil-like shades and yellowish stains on the cobblestone pavement. A car drove up, their headlights beaming around, too bright, and peals of laughter erupted from it as it made a hard, jerky stop in front of the candy shop. A man in a dirty coat sat in his own car, drumming on his wheel nervously, before turning to his partner in the passenger seat. “Well, Nott, are you ready?”

“Yes!” The goblin’s eyes were almost as wide as dinner plates. “I’ve never been in a speakeasy before.” Her cracked, high-pitched voice betrayed no worry.

She should not be here, but there was no other place for her to go. Ever since she adopted him, and that was by her choice, not written down or anything, she stayed stuck to him like a burr. It was almost sweet, if Caleb hadn’t been going hungry trying to feed just himself, and another mouth not an ideal situation. But she was scared, half-starved, and jumped when men spoke too loud near her. Caleb could turn her out as soon as he could turn out his own soul.

“It’s not so very exciting, just very loud and lots of people. Just stay close to me, and you’ll be okay. And you remember what to say if you get overwhelmed _oder_ scared?”

“‘Frumpkin is hungry,’” she recited.

“Good girl.” He nodded sharply at her, and she mimicked the same action, causing him to smile weakly. He opened the car, wincing at the bitter cold of it, and stepped out, getting soaked through, but waited until the small girl was by his side before crossing the street to the candy store, called the Fletching and Moondrop General Store.

Once inside, he shook off his hair from the rain and he nodded to the half-elf kid, no more than 16 years old, at the counter. “Good evening,” he said primly. “I’d like a candy, please.”

“What kind, sir?”

“Cherry,” he said.

The kid nodded, and then looked at Nott. “No kids.”

“She stays with me,” he replied. “She’s my apprentice.”

Nott glared at the kid. “Yeah, his apprentice.”

Her pronunciation was very good, he thought with some pride, but shook his head at her anyways. He slid over a worn dollar bill to the kid. “Hopefully this will persuade you? I would like to keep my apprentice near me.”

The kid, who was only eighteen, really, an adult, peered from him to the dollar, and folded it into his pocket. “Right this way sir,” he said, and led down the hallway. They passed through a sparse stockroom with a bare hanging light, and an empty wall in the far back. The kid raised a hand, and the back to reveal a staircase, filled with loud music already filtering up. Caleb slid a dirty, grimy quarter into the kid’s palm. The kid gave a disgusted, “Er, thanks” before rushing off.

A tall human woman, lean and muscled, stood at the entrance, and eyed him before proclaiming, “No cops.” She wore rolled up shirtsleeves, and long navy-blue trousers. Her hair was half shaved on her head, and the rest of it gathered in a ponytail.

“Private Investigator,” he said, and cleared his throat. “I was sent for by a Mr. Gustav Fletching?”

The bouncer stared at him for a few minutes, her blue eyes narrowed. “He didn’t say he was hiring anyone to help us.”

Caleb shrugged. “I was offered money to find a certain necklace of importance, but if you’d prefer I’d leave…”

“No, no.” She huffed. “Fine. You come with me, I’ll bring Mr. Fletching to you.” She looked past him, and down. “No kids.”

“She’s my stenographer. She keeps notes while I work.”

The bouncer glared at him but shrugged. “Whatever. Come on, I don’t have all night.”

“Thank you,” he said, but she had already turned away from him. He nodded to Nott, and they walked behind her, as the music swelled, and as they finally made it to the landing, the entirety of the speakeasy was clear.

In the center of the stage, bright lights flooded on an Aasimar woman with magnificent black hair, singing a powerful song about loss, love, Caleb wasn't paying attention. The woman in blue led them to a corner booth in the very back, across from the band, and told them firmly to stay, she’d get Gustav, but it would take a while. Caleb nodded, and she left. The woman on stage finished her song, her voice powerful and sweet like honey, and a green half-orc came out to greet her, calling out in a smoky voice, “That was Yasha, singing our hearts away and stealing them in the night!”

The room applauded around Caleb, sounding like thunder. He craned his neck to see everyone while their attentions were focused.

Nott slid closer to him, whisper-shouting in his ear, “Who are we waiting for again?”

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, you've all heard the stories, the tales, the man born of sin and delicious temptation, but just wait until you hear him sing. Coming to you now is the one, the only… Mollymauk Tealeaf!”

A purple Tiefling strode onstage behind the announcer, wrapped an arm around him. The announcer’s eyes widened as Mollymauk kissed him on the mouth, winked to the rest of the crowd who had cheered and whooped, and said, as the announcer tapped his ass before caressing it, and then walked away, “Well, well, what do we have here?” He called out to the crowd.

Caleb’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Of course, he had heard of Mollymauk. Everyone had. The man was infamous for his sexual scandals. Rumors had it that he had a pair of lovers waiting in the wings at all time, male and female, and that he had once seduced the mayor and his wife, causing the divorce cluttering the papers now. But he wasn't aware of how colorful the man was. He wore a bright purple coat, fanciful gold etchings all along the side of it, a white shirt underneath, and black slacks. With dark purple hair, slicked back and curling around his neck, not to mention his curved horns, he looked like temptation himself. That and his vague Irish accent. Or maybe just from Chicago? Either way, the odd flat when there ought to be a lilt, or a lilt during a flat, was very pleasant to hear.

“We’re waiting for Gustav Fletching,” he whispered back to him.

“Everyone feeling good? Feeling wild, hot?” Mollymauk lingered on that last note, winked again to the crowd, and said, “Well if you weren't before, we'll make you now.”

Another whoop—did people ever get tired of that?—and the music began. Mollymauk tightened his bowtie and began singing. “Come fly with me,” he started to croon, and the band swelled behind him.

His voice was quite good, but Caleb couldn't quite look at him. He was so vivid and overwhelming a personality, moving around the stage, that he just couldn't keep an eye on him. But he did keep an eye on the rest of the place. Most people were sitting, laughing and drinking, but there were a few rougher looking fellows on the edge of the seating areas, watching like he did. Nott, however, was still a child, and shuffled around in her seat. “Can I drink something?”

“No, you can’t,” he replied, still focused on the people watching Mr. Tealeaves like he was a dinner they meant to hunt beforehand.

Mollymauk sang, and the couples on the floors danced, swaying to the slower song.

“But I’m thirsty,” she whined, and Caleb sighed.

“I don’t want to leave you alone to go get you something, and I really don’t want you to walk by yourself to the bar, and I don’t want Mr. Fletching to try to find us and we’re not there. Are you alright enough to wait just a bit longer?”

She groaned and put her head against the table, in full petulant mode. “I guess.” In a few moments she was softly snoring.

It was a few more songs before the announcer returned to the stage, whispered in Mollymauk’s ear, and then took the microphone. “Let’s give it up for Mollymauk Tealeaves everyone! Now, let’s give him a break, let the band play on, and he’ll come back in a few minutes.”

Caleb had expected to receive Mr. Fletching at the table right then, but the woman in the shirtsleeves reappeared and rapped on the table in front of him, startling him and waking up Nott, who flinched and held up a small switchblade. He put his hand on top of hers, going “Shush, there’s no need for that now,” but the woman just laughed.

“Oh, I can see you two are big fighters here. Well, Gustav will see you now. Come on.”

They scooched uncomfortably out of the seats, and Caleb saw Nott’s hand slip back into her pocket. He didn’t blame her of course. Nott was small goblin girl—any one of those things could, and did, make her a target for children and adult bullies alike, especially since she had hopped in and out of homeless shelters with the rapidity that made his head spin. He had never seen her without the knife, not even when she curled up on his stained couch and slept next to Frumpkin.

Who he had made sure to feed that night, and was not starving, no matter how much he meowed at them.

The woman led them through the backstage, a dizzying amount of wirework and makeup and feather boas and all sorts of colorful nonsense, when they reached a room that read “MANAGER” in bright red letters. She knocked twice, and the door opened to reveal a harrowed half-elf man, his eyes wide with worry. “Ah, Inspector,” he said, and held out his head. “I’ve been expecting you. Come in, please, excuse the mess.”

“It’s Investigator,” Caleb corrected, as they shuffled into the room. To his surprise, Mollymauk Tealeaf himself was there, staring right at him. The room was nearly static with the tension in there. “Good evening,” he greeted politely. “I’m Private Investigator Caleb Widogast.”

“I’m Gustav Fletching, and this is Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

Mollymauk, to his surprise, rolled his eyes. “He knows who I am. Everyone does.”

Gustav breathed deeply through his nose before gamily ignoring it. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice. My star here,” he said, shooting an angry glance at the Tiefling, “has a paramour who threatens to expose us to the police if Mollymauk doesn’t find his mother’s necklace.”

“W—what?”

“I don’t get it,” Nott muttered beside him.

“Let me explain,” Mollymauk said. Close up, under these lights, he almost looked ghoulish; kohl lining his eyes, a blush on his cheeks. “A few days ago, I fell in with a man with a lot of money, and we hit it off. But last night I stopped by his place, and he accused me of stealing when he couldn’t find his mother’s prize necklace this morning, apparently blessed by the queen or some such.” Mollymauk shrugged. “I didn’t steal it, but he had showed it to me, knowing my taste in jewelry.” He shook his head gently, showing off the baubles in his horns. There were a lot of them, golden and shiny. “And then I spent the night, and came back here. A few hours ago, he flew in backstage, accosted me and told me I had stolen his mother’s necklace, and if he didn’t have it in his possession in the next day, he’d tell the cops about our club down here.”

“So you see,” Gustav said, his voice tight. “We need quick answers, and we need it to be without the prying eyes of the law.”

“Who is this man?” Caleb asked.

“Gnome, name of Jakob Kosh. You’ve heard of him?” Mollymauk looked at his nails disinterestedly. “He’s not a very nice man.”

“The land baron? Owns half of the poor half of town. I think I rent from him, actually.”

“Well, you’ll be satisfied to know he’s not that nice of a landlord,” Mollymauk said with a grin. “Although, not many of them are.”

“I am not terribly surprised to hear this.” Caleb had complained about his one lightbulb, hanging bare from the ceiling, before, but never heard back. “But this Kosh, does he have any servants?”

“He said he interviewed them all.”

“Not well enough,” Caleb said, and nodded. “I’ll take the case. Shall we discuss payment?”

“Payment when you find the necklace,” Gustav said. “One hundred dollars.”

“Or you get that rat bastard to stop talking,” Mollymauk offered, to which Gustav glared.

“I’ll figure it out,” Caleb informed them, and checked his watch. “What time did he give you to give him back the necklace?”

“Midnight, tomorrow.”

That would be twenty-four hours from now. Barely enough time to interview everyone. “I shall try my best, but would you mind, Mr. Tealeaf, if I ask you a few more questions?”

“Not at all,” he said, grinning languidly.

Gustav sucked his teeth, looked at the open door, and told the singer, “We’ll have Yasha sing a bit more, but we’ll give you ten minutes to come back, or you won’t be able to sing until _after_ Jester’s dance.”

Tealeaf winced but nodded. “Yes, Gustav,” he answered dully, and the manager left, closing the door shut.

Tealeaf stretched, shifting his neck a bit, cracking the tension in his neck loudly. Caleb winced inwardly but cleared his throat. “Mr. Tealeaf,” he began.

“Please, call me Mollymauk. Molly to my friends.”

“Mr. Mollymauk,” he said, afraid to show the Tiefling any inch of disrespect. “How long had you and Kosh been an item?”

“An item makes it seem like we were dating,” he replied, and sat down in one of the chairs, stretching out his long, long legs, wrapped in silk, in a way that accentuated the joint in his pants. “We’ve been fucking each other for about three days. I was thinking about leaving him soon.”

Behind him, Nott made some sort of titter, and Mollymauk looked at her curiously. “Oh, shit, sorry. And your name, miss?”

“Nott,” she said, stepping up to stand next to Caleb, her chin raised. “I’m Nott, the Brave.”

“Nott,” he said with a smile, nodding politely. “I’m Mollymauk. Pleasure to meet you.”

She shifted, but before Caleb could watch her closely, Mollymauk was talking again. “He really was a bore,” he said. “And a rude man.”

Caleb nodded. “May I ask what you saw in him?”

He shrugged. “I like to flirt. And if they have money, it helps, doesn’t it?”

The newspapers and gossip rags knew this about him. It was rare that he was seen without someone rich and powerful, in some lavish setting or another. “What else do you know about him? His servants, anyone else you saw that night?”

“Hm, no,” he said. “His valet, but besides him, we went upstairs right after.”

“Anything else you think is relevant?”

“Shouldn’t you be writing this down?” Mollymauk asked, curiously. “I’ve met a few private eyes in my day, and most of them carried notebooks.”

“I’ve got a keen mind,” Caleb said quickly, trying to review everything he had just been told, while ignoring the implication that he was not, in fact, a private investigator. “Where does he live?”

“Up in Queens,” he said. “I’ll write down the address for you.” He leaned over to the desk and scribbled something down on a piece of paper, tore it off the larger sheet. His long elegant fingers curved delicately over the paper.

“That would be nice, thank you. Are there any security measures on his property?”

“Yes, a few guards,” he said. “One of them was an ex-cop, we talked about it while Kosh was busy harassing his maids for something or other.” A look flashed across Mollymauk’s face, but it was gone in an instant. “Do you have any other questions, Private Eye Widogast?”

Caleb shook his head. “That should be as much as we need.” He stepped forward to take the address, but Mollymauk rose instead first, his well-tailored frame suddenly a foot closer. He pressed the slip of paper in Caleb’s hand. “Thank you, Inspector, I hope you save my club’s tail for me.”

And like that, he strode out the room with one last flick of his spaded tail as a flourish.

“What just happened?” Nott asked.

“I’m not sure,” Caleb responded, and looked down at the paper. It had a Queens address alright. “But we should head off.”

Gustav found them wandering, dazed and lost by the chaos of backstage, and gently led them out. “Thank you, so much,” he said, and pointed them to the door outside. “You can get out there. Call the store if you’ve found the necklace. We owe you our livelihoods,” he said, and shoved them outside, not unhelpfully.

It was still raining when they found themselves trudging up the hill to where Caleb had parked the car. “That was fun!” Nott cheered. “There were a _lot_ of shiny things.”

Caleb almost agreed absentmindedly, before looking down sharply to see Nott’s hand back in her pocket. “What did you take?”

“Two buttons! They were on the floor by the dressing rooms.” She sounded incredibly pleased with herself.

A wrack of anxiety shuddered through him. “Just… be careful. If it’s little things, it’s not so bad, but big things and we could be in a lot of trouble. _You_ could be in a lot of trouble, and they won’t let me see you again.”

She pouted, but nodded. “Okay…”

“I’m not mad at you, Nott,” he amended. “Just worried.”

She seemed cheered a little by that, or at least not actively upset. Once they were seated inside the car, she yawned hard. “Are we going to do a stake out?”

“We are,” he said, and shrugged out of his coat to drape it over her. “But you are going to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

She nodded, and managed to keep her eyes open for about five minutes while he drove carefully through the city, over from the Bronx to Queens. He liked driving at night. It was never really quiet, not here in New York City, but it was easier. And there was parking, for once.

He found the address, circled a few times to be sure, and parked the car close enough that he was able to watch for any entrances or exits by anyone, and bent his head, looking for all the world like he was asleep. Kosh lived in a two story, beautiful house, with a gated yard and even a small rose garden just inside the railings. He really was doing very well for himself, Caleb thought, and slumped in his car seat, pretending to be asleep.

Around four in the morning, he woke up Nott to take her shift, and then _actually_ fell briefly asleep. He was awoken by Nott’s gentle tap on his shoulder. “Wake up,” she said. “There’s people moving in there.”

There were. Servants, by the look of their practical dress and uniform. “ _Ah, gut,_ ” he muttered sleepily, yawned, and shook his head to shake off the sleep. His stomach complained noisily, and beside him, Nott’s answered. They looked at each other and chuckled. “We’ll get something on the way back, _ja?_ ”

“Sounds good. I mean, _gut_ ,” she replied, beaming at him.

“You’re doing well!” he praised, giving her a smile, and turned his attention back to the house. Was it a mansion? It didn’t matter, he thought, and left the car.

Trailed by Nott, they managed to quietly ask the servants who would know what happened. Most of them shook their head in fear of answering questions to a cop, but one halfling butler, name of Thaddeus, told him that there were lots of funny business going around, things going missing, Kosh’s sudden stop of spending so lavishly, men coming in late at night and heated arguments in the parlor.

_Debt. Kosh had sold the necklace to pay his debt. But why bring Mollymauk into it?_

“Do you know what the men looked like? Or if there was some… tattoo? Anything?” He asked Thaddeus

“They had a big ugly tattoo, right on their neck, looked like a G?”

_The Gentleman. The necklace is as good as gone, then._

Caleb rubbed his face as he and Nott found breakfast, or maybe it was lunch at that hour. He really should go back home, feed Frumpkin, but that money would help on his rent, but would he be able to prove anything? To make Kosh back down on his threat?

He meant to ruin the club. Ruining the club would… what? Sate the Gentleman? Sate other debtors? But the Gentleman was infamous for buying out other people’s debts, and tightening that particular noose on him. So that’s why Mollymauk was involved. They just needed a hook back on Kosh’s own soft underbelly. Something he would not want the police to know, but that wouldn’t bite them back in the ass.

Just at dusk, when Kosh went out for the night, Caleb and Nott snuck into the house, managing to avoid the guards. It wasn’t strictly legal. None of this was strictly legal, really. But when you dealt with criminals, well. Sometimes you had to do not-legal things.

Nott picked every lock they came across, except for the last one, the one to the study. “Caleb,” she whispered, too loud in the large, splendid house. “It’s magicked.”

Fuck. It was never just normal things, was it? He looked around, but no one was coming. “Cover me,” he whispered, and set his hand on the doorknob. Flames licked the doorknob until the metal cackled, crinkled, and melted into his hand. Caleb shook away the liquidated metal as it dripped down his wrist, hissing in pain, but pushed the door open with his shoulder. They were in.

“Nott, keep a lookout,” he whispered to her, and she did so, keeping her ear pressed to the wood of the door, but fidgeted.

Caleb broke into the locked desk—no point in hiding that they had been there, after all—and rifled quickly through the papers, finding nothing of import, until he popped open the false bottom (it wasn’t very cleverly hidden), and found dozens of contracts of buildings—his own shitty apartment included—that were listed under his name. With a closer look, though, he noticed that the name was not Jakob Kosh, but Justin Kosh. Was he illegally collecting rent money?

Something sounded down in the rest of the house, and Caleb froze, before rummaging further—and finding a very fine jeweled necklace. It must be the one Mollymauk was accused of stealing. He looked up, about to explain what he had just found, when he saw Nott’s fingers grasp for a fine bowl placed on an end table near her—and break it, shattering the peace of the night.

A magical alarm rang around them, and Caleb snatched Nott out of the air, pulled her to the window, and hissed, “Stay put, that’s all I asked,” and she whined, “I’m sorry I just wanted to look at it _it was_ _so pretty_.”

“Come on, we don’t have time,” he said, opening up the window. The guards were rushing towards the front of the house, and when he stuck out his head, no one saw but the rose bushes underneath. “Come on,” he said, and flung himself out of the house.

The rose bushes were not a very good landing spot, as it turned out, as millions of thorns pierced and dug into his coat. But for the most part, he was only scratched. However, a second later, Nott jumped down on top of him, and rolled off, relatively fine. “Caleb!” She whispered. “Stop playing in the bushes and get out.”

He didn’t have the time or the energy to argue back, but she tried to help him get unstuck, and finally, with a lot of rustling, they managed to undo him, and just as the alarm stopped. A lot of voices were suddenly in the study window, however, and then they were looking down at them and shouting.

They sprinted through the grass and hopped the fence quickly, Caleb tearing his coat once more on a spike, but then they were in the car and squealing away as they sped through the sleepy neighborhood.

“We did it!” Nott cheered.

“No thanks to your breaking things. That is not how I want to do this next time,” he said, but breathed a sigh of relief. “I don’t mind your sticky fingers, but not before we’re safe, you understand?”

“I understand.” She did not seem pleased at all.

“Good.” He grinned hugely. “When we get paid, I’m going to buy you the biggest sandwich.”

“Thank the gods, I’m starving.”

“Me too,” he said, and sped towards the Fletching and Moondrop.

The general store was quiet, the boy that was there before was gone, but Caleb walked on through anyways. He was torn and bleeding down his leg where the rose thorns had gotten him worse, and he was damned tired, but he pushed on, following the hallway. When they pushed on, they saw the woman with the shirtsleeves talking to the half-orc worriedly, and then turned to them. “Hey, hey, you can’t be here,” the half-orc said, but the woman held up a hand. “Wait, Fjord, this is the detective, the one helping Molly.” She turned to him. “Did you find it?”

“ _Ja,_ ” he said. “Gustav. I need to see Gustav.”

“Woah, man, hold up,” Fjord said. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”

“ _Ja_ , I jumped out of a window onto some rosebushes, I’m surprised I’m not hurt worse. Please,” he said. “Gustav. Can you get him for me?”

“Yeah, come on downstairs, sit down a bit, I’ll grab him for you.” Fjord sprinted down the stairs, and Caleb, feeling very tired, held onto the railings as he gingerly stepped down.

“You okay? We have some healing potions in the back we can grab,” the woman offered.

“ _Nein,_ I’m fine, I just need to get this to Gustav and get my money.”

“Good point,” she said, and when they made it down to the basement she directed them to sit at the bar. “This works, you drink for free tonight.”

“That would be nice,” Caleb replied. “And your name?”

“Beau,” she said, and shook his hand firmly.

“Caleb Widogast,” he replied, and looked out onto the dance floor. The tables and chairs were neat, and the stage was set, but the band was still setting up. No one else was there.

Gustav Fletching burst out of the curtains just as he thought it, and called out, “You got it?” Behind him, Mollymauk came out, in a white shirt and dark pants, his face not painted up yet besides a sparkly purple lipstick.

Caleb reached into his jacket and pulled out the necklace. “I got it,” he called back, and the relief in the manager’s eyes was palpable. “Oh, thank the gods. Molly, this is it, right?”

The Tiefling peered over his shoulder at the bar, where Caleb had displayed it. “That’s it,” he said, relief soaking his face. “Thank you, Detective Inspector Investigator.”

“Just one of those will work,” Caleb conceded. “And my payment?”

Gustav handed him an envelope, which Caleb immediately opened to ensure yes, all the money was in there, five twenties. Caleb breathed for once as relief soaked through his lungs.

Gustav began thanking him profusely, tears in his eyes, but Caleb held up one of his hands, the money already tucked deep in his cloak. “There’s more,” he said. “Information. The reason he targeted Mr. Tealeaf is because he’s under the Gentleman’s debt.”

There was a soft collection of gasps around him. He looked around—hadn’t noticed how many people were around him, including a blue Tiefling. Gustav shook his head. “Why would the Gentleman want anything to do with us?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “He pinned the necklace on Mr. Tealeaf and was going to expose you to the police. But the only thing I don’t know--”

“--the second thing,” Nott piped up.

“Yes, thank you. The second thing I don’t know is why not just tell the police? Why go through the song and dance?”

Fjord looked up suddenly. “We have company,” he growled, and there were five men coming down the steps, all dressed to the nines.

Every single person stood up to face them, glaring, but Gustav pushed his way forward. “Can I help you? We’re not open yet.”

“You’ll be interested in what we have to hear,” the human in front said. “We’re on the behalf of the Gentleman, who can help you out of your predicament.”

“We’ve already—” Gustav started to say, but Mollymauk laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I’d like to hear what the Gentleman has to say, if it’s all the same,” he purred. “Go on, tell me what our lives are worth.”

“The Gentleman will stop Kosh’s threat—if you pay him a fine,” the man in front said. “He wants to own half your club.”

“Half my—” Gustav sputtered. “That would ruin us.”

“Take it or leave it,” the man said. “The Gentleman is waiting.”

“We’ll leave it,” Mollymauk said, and held up the necklace. “Kosh can kiss my beautiful ass.”

The men glared at them, and the man in front shook his head. “The Gentleman will not ask again,” he said, and paused. “We give you a final—”

“Hey man?” Beau said, holding a baseball bat, and positioning herself to hit. “Get the fuck outta here.”

The Gentleman’s men fled upstairs, stumbling and tramping up, and the group cheered at each other—except for Gustav and Mollymauk, who looked solemnly at each other. “They’ll be back,” Gustav said.

“What’s to stop them from calling the cops anyways?” Mollymauk said, a tremor in his voice. Caleb looked at the singer—his fists were balled up, and his knuckles white. He wasn’t afraid, he was _furious._ “What’s to stop them from ruining everything we have?”

“Nothing,” Gustav said. “Absolutely nothing.”

With that chilly sense of foreboding hanging over them, the group broke up, every person running off to their own business, leaving Gustav, Mollymauk, Caleb, and Nott at the bar.

“Well, I’m still grateful,” Gustav said, turning to them. “Even if it was just a ploy to get us all arrested or under the Gentleman’s thumb, it was good work.”

“You’re welcome,” Caleb said. “I’m afraid I have never been able to figure out where the Gentleman was, or I would offer some assistance in buckling him.”

“There’s some things you can’t fight,” Gustav said, and shrugged. “But in any case. You’re more than welcome and stay. Drinks on the house for you.”

Nott cheered beside Caleb. “Can we start now?” She asked.

Gustav winced, but took a deep breath. “Sure. Well. On with the show,” he said, and walked away, leaving them with Mollymauk, deep in thought.

“If only there was some way to stop the Gentleman,” he muttered, but shrugged. “But in any case, you saved my ass from one frying pan. Thank you,” he said, and clapped Caleb on the shoulder, and shook Nott’s hand. “If we’re still here past tomorrow, you’re more than welcome to stop by the backstage.” He winked broadly at Caleb, kissed his cheek, and sauntered off.

“He’s nice,” Nott said, as the band began to rehearse, filling the empty room with the brassy sound of trumpets and drums.

“He’s a terrible flirt,” Caleb said, watching him depart into the curtains, his tail giving one last flick before disappearing. He turned to Nott, and yawned deeply. “I’m very tired, Nott. Let’s get your booze and go home.”

Nott yawned back at him in agreement, and they departed.

Frumpkin was not happy with Caleb, hissing at the man when he came in, but now that the cat was fed, he was curled next to Nott’s sleeping body on the couch, one eye open as Caleb settled himself for bed. The studio he rented offered no privacy between the two occupants, so he dressed in the bathroom. Looking up, he saw a smudge on his cheek—a bright violet that smeared when he touched it. _Mollymauk._ He smiled to himself, showered, and got dressed in bedclothes, and headed straight for the Murphy bed in the wall. Once under the covers that smelled just slightly musty, he relaxed, and finally fell asleep.

His phone rang loudly not ten minutes afterwards.

Groggily, he stumbled for the phone. “ _Ja_?” He cleared his throat. “Widogast Investigation.”

“Hiya Caleb,” a familiar voice shouted cheerfully over the faint din of laughter and music. “It’s Mollymauk. We just wanted to let you know that Kosh is dropping everything, he turned and ran, and told us the Gentleman put it up to him, said he’d tell the Gentleman off for us.” There was a voice besides his suddenly, and a shout, “Just wait a minute!” Then Mollymauk returned to the conversation. “Just wanted to say thanks, all’s well, and if you ever want to come by again, we’d love to have you.”

“ _Danke_ ,” Caleb said, yawned again. “Thank you. Is there anything else I can help with, or can I go back to sleep?”

“Yeah, there is—”

And then there was a jostle for the phone, and a young woman’s voice. “Hello! I didn’t get to talk to you, I’m sorry I didn’t, but my name is Jester! I wanted to ask you for your help with my mother!”

Caleb could not handle the sheer energy she radiated, even over the phone. “Eh?”

“My mother! I wanted to ask you for help with her!”

“Can this—Miss Jester, may I speak with you tomorrow? It’s one in the morning,” he said, and she giggled.

“I know, I know, but you helped Molly and he said you were _really_ nice even if you dressed like a hobo, and then I started thinking—”

There was a shuffle on the phone, and Mollymauk’s voice came back. “Come back again tonight, Caleb? Around 8 in the evening? Jester can talk to you then,” he said hurriedly. “Let the man sleep, Jester—”

“—But my mother!” She said back, and there was a hushed conversation that went on for long enough that Caleb wondered if he was even necessary.

“Tonight at 8?” Caleb shouted back, startling Nott and Frumpkin, both of whom hissed.

“Yes!” They both responded, and hung up the phone.

“Wha’ wa’ tha?” Nott asked sleepily.

“Another job. I am sorry I woke you up,” he said, and barely remembered throwing himself back on the bed before he passed out.


	2. Puttin' On the Ritz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jester has a case for Caleb, Caleb realizes something about Nott, Mollymauk looks hot in slacks.

The next day, after waking up around two in the afternoon and only because Nott poked him in the face, Caleb showered, tried not to make himself seem too disheveled, and cleaned some of the wounds and thorns still embedded in his leg, and groggily schlepped to the store, Nott pulling the hood of her coat over her face beside him. He bought coffee and eggs, and when Nott eyed a big chocolate bar, Caleb caved and bought her some of that. They weren’t flush with money now, but they had enough to make it to the next month’s rent. A little indulgence wasn’t such a bad thing, and it made Nott happy, so.

They went back home, put together a little feast for themselves and Frumpkin (who liked the slices of turkey they slid to him) and while Nott ate her candy, Caleb read the paper, scanning for any information that he could have needed. Usually, his cases were more of the mundane sort, but the papers he had stolen from Kosh burned a hole in his pocket. Perhaps he should hand it to the authorities, under another identity of course. In any case, there was no mention of Kosh, except in the gossip section of the magazine, under a picture of the Tiefling wearing a silk robe and yelling, where apparently, at a _location unmentionable by this newspaper,_ Mollymauk Tealeaf broke up with Kosh publicly. Speakeasies were a widely known secret, of course—but Caleb was grateful that the police hadn’t officially been told.

And now they had a new case, possibly. Unless he had dreamt it.

Nott looked over his shoulder at the picture of Mollymauk, and tucked her chin there. “He’s something, isn’t he?”

“He is,” he said. “Did you like it there? I think I have another case there. If you’d like to come with me, you’re welcome, but if you’d prefer to not, you can keep Frumpkin company?”

“No, I wanna go! They have drinks and so much music and _lots_ of shiny things.”

Caleb opened his mouth to correct her, to tell her not to steal, but fuck, it made her happy. “Alright, then tonight we’ll go.” He leaned his head closer to hers until they touched, barely, and smiled to himself when she paused, staying still for a moment before she turned to look at Frumpkin.

“But before that, we have other work to do. Or I do, that is,” he said, and began to go through his papers for other clients, other cases.

By time he had finished tying a few more cases up, and reminding his clients of his dues, it was nearly time to go. Once they reached the Fletching and Moonlight, Caleb’s stomach started grumbling again. The kid at the counter seemed a little surprised when he asked if there were any sandwiches in the General Store—guess it wasn’t very usual to actually purchase things at this store—but there were a few wrapped sandwiches for sale, and Caleb and Nott polished them off before heading downstairs.

Eight o’clock was just about opening hour for the club, they found, as they were greeted by Beau at the door and Fjord at the bar, serving a few people who came out for their drinks. The band had already started, welcoming people in with something slow, fitting the mood well, really. Caleb walked over to the bar, waving at Fjord. “I got a call from a woman named Jester?”

“Yeah, she said somethin’ bout that. I’ll go fetch her,” he said, and left the bar.

Nott crawled up to a bar stool next to him as they waited, her legs dangling from the edges. “So what’s this case?”

“Not sure yet. Something with her mother, I think.”

Fjord exited the red curtains, and the blue Tiefling from last night trailed behind him. “HI INVESTIGATOR!” She shouted, too loudly for the near empty room, causing the other occupants to start. She wore her short hair curled prettily with a bright purple flower tucked behind her ear and a medium-length silvery dress that hugged her curves. Every time she moved, something else shimmered in the spotted lights in the club. “Thank you for coming to meet me, it’s so nice to meet you, hi!” This last part was directed at Nott, who waved back. “Come on, let’s sit down, I have to talk to you about something and it’s _super_ urgent, come on!”

She led the bemused Caleb and Nott to one of the booths, sitting down across from them. “So, like I said last night, before Molly made me get off the phone, is that I sent letters out to my mother, asking for money, and I _know_ it’s coming, it’s just like, maybe it was stolen by someone, you know? Someone found out who my mother is and is intercepting my mail!” She looked suspiciously at the people at the bar, who were not paying attention at all, and Fjord, who was watching with curiosity.

Caleb asked in a quiet voice, “Should we perhaps talk somewhere more privately?”

“Good idea,” she said, and flounced out of the seat. “I’ll bring you backstage, I share rooms with Yasha and other singer ladies, but it’s fine, I trust them.”

They were thrust back into the chaos of backstage, but now he could tell that there was a definite Caleb let her lead them over, feeling very strange about letting her lead them to her room, but was saved when he saw the tall Aasimar woman sitting at a table, eating a plate of something that smelled Italian, and Mollymauk sitting on the dresser, back to the mirror and legs dangling as he finished a story with, “And that was the _last_ time I was stabbed by a cheese knife!” They turned to face the intruders.

“Oh, sorry,” Caleb started, but Jester shook her head. “No, no, I trust them. Molly, you said that Caleb looked like a hobo, but he _doesn’t_ , you lied to me!”

“No, I said he _dressed_ like one.” He waved to Caleb and Nott. His fingers were painted, Caleb noticed. “Evening, folks. Glad you were able to come out. Sorry about the late night call, I forget what normal peoples’ times were.”

“It’s alright,” Caleb said. “I’m more of a night owl myself.”

“And he showered today!” Nott supplied helpfully. “I think he looks good!”

“Yes, well.” He eyed Caleb up and down. “If you need a tailor, I know a few good ones.”

“I prefer to spend my money on food and rent,” Caleb replied, and turned to Jester. “Here is okay?”

“Here is fine. And don’t listen to him, you look fine, Investigator!”

“Mollymauk has the fashion sense of a pompous peacock,” Yasha said in her quiet voice, causing Jester to giggle and Mollymauk to stick his tongue out at her.

Caleb tried not to smile, but beside him, Nott was smirking openly.

“At least I have a fashion sense—” he began to argue, pointing at Caleb, and gods, he knew he was about to be insulted and he’d just have to take it—

But Jester held up one blue finger and made a face. “Don’t interrupt me, I have to get him to help me!”

Mollymauk looked like he wanted to argue, but shrugged. “Fine, go ahead. He is a good detective, but you wouldn’t see from what he looks like.”

“Rent is expensive, and I have two other mouths to feed,” Caleb replied, and turned to Jester. “You were saying.”

“Right!” she said with a final nod. “So can you help me?”

Once again, he was at a loss. “I don’t know who your mother is,” he reminded her. “Or how to find her, or anything.”

“Oh, she’s a famous courtesan, you’ve definitely heard of her, I’m sure, she’s the Ruby of the Sea.”

Caleb leaned back for a moment, surprised. “I have heard of her,” he said, looking at Jester curiously. “But I wasn’t aware she had a daughter.”

“I’m a _secret_ ,” she said, and explained: “No one wants to go to a courtesan who’s had a kid, you know, and I stayed in my room mostly, by myself, but when I turned eighteen I really wanted to dance instead, I’m _really_ good at dancing, you know? And I left home, and I haven’t heard a word from my mother, and I know she’s okay but she might not know _I’m_ okay, and it’s just that, I ran out of the money I left with, and I wanted to ask her for help.”

Caleb took this all in, processed it, and took a very deep breath. “So you think someone’s stealing the money she’s sending you,” he said.

“Yeah! Can you find out who it is?”

“Do you send the letter through the post office, or do you have someone deliver it personally?”

“Through the post office,” she said. “I know it must _get_ to her, I’m asking you who is _stealing_ it back.”

“I’m just covering my bases,” he said.

“Bases!” Mollymauk interjected. “Do they have baseball in Germany?”

Caleb blinked at the sudden interruption. “I imagine they do now,” he said slowly, “but I haven’t been there in ten years.”

“So you _are_ German.” He turned to Yasha. “I _told_ you I could figure it out.”

“Please, the task at hand,” he pleaded, feeling uncomfortable. It was a subject that came up every once in a while, but considering the tensions that lingered after the Great War, he was not eager to be at the mercy of gossips. “Miss Jester—”

“Just Jester is fine, doll,” she replied. “You’re too sweet.”

“Miss Jester, you say that someone is stealing the money. Do you know who?”

“No.”

“So it could be anyone.”

“It must be someone from the post office!” She cried, standing up.

“No, no,” he said, standing up as well. “I don’t know who it is. But I can find out. Where is your mother?”

Jester named a Manhattan address, that Caleb took a moment to reflect and nod. “And do you tell her to send the money to the club, or your apartment, or--?”

“I tell her to send it here, to the club. But Gustav said he’s never seen the money, and you know him, he’s trustworthy, I know this.”

“I do know this,” Caleb said, but really, he had no honest idea. “Alright. I can try to track down the money,” he said.

“Good! But don’t tell her that it’s being stolen. Actually, don’t talk to her at all, I don’t want her to know anything is wrong. She doesn’t think I’m capable,” she said, sounding very much like a kid reciting her parent’s scorn.

“You seem capable,” Caleb offered delicately, but looked at her oddly. “But I do have to be paid to go looking for the letters.”

“I can pay you,” she said. “I have enough saved up for that. And there will be more once you find it!”

“Alright,” he said. “My rate is fifty a case.”

“You told us one hundred!” Molly argued, and then grinned. “You sly dog, you swindled us.”

“I did not swindle you. I made you a reasonable offer for a matter that needed to be solved _quickly._ ”

“This is urgent too!” Jester interrupted. “I need my money!”

“But they needed it in a matter of hours,” Caleb replied. “This one, I have more time to think about and consider.”

Jester pouted, but nodded. “Okay. You win.”

“Is there anything I should know about, Miss Jester? Anyone who might want to do you or your mother harm, anyone who might have known that you wanted money from her?”

“No, no one,” she said. “And I only told my friends here about my mother.”

“No one else?”

“No.”

“Nott,” Caleb asked. “Do you have any questions?”

She shook her head, looking over the others. “Um. How much money did you ask for?”

“Not much,” Jester said, shrugging. “About five hundred clams.”  

Mollymauk whistled low, Yasha stared at her wide-eyed, and Nott almost fell out of her chair. Caleb felt, frankly, the same.

“That’s a lot of money,” he said.

“Not _that_ much money,” Jester argued.

“Love, that’s a lot of money,” Mollymauk argued back gently. “A lot more than I have, that’s for sure.”

“Same here,” Yasha added. “You know, you do get paid here, if you wanted to save money you could always find a cheaper apartment. Something quiet and small? Or you could get a roommate?”

“A roommate would be nice,” she said thoughtfully. “Would you be my roommate, Yasha?”

The well-muscled woman smiled, and shook her head. “I already have a roommate,” she said. “But I know Beau was looking for one?”

“I’ll ask her then,” she said. “Thank you, Yasha!” She bounced up, and gave her a hug, then rushed over to hug Caleb as well. “I know you can find my money,” she announced at his chest, and then released him, looking up at him with bright eyes.

Oh fuck. He certainly _hoped_ so. “I will try,” he said, and cleared his throat while he took a step back. “Miss Jester, a pleasure doing business with you,” he said, holding out his hand for a handshake.

She took it, shaking firmly. “A pleasure doing business with you too,” she said, and gasped. “I want to draw you!” she declared, and rushed out the door.

Still leaning against the mirror, Mollymauk cleared his throat. “If you can’t find it,” he said, “please be kind about it. She’s a bit young.”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll try. But this mother of hers… I wonder if she _would_ respond.”

Mollymauk and Yasha looked at each other. “I don’t know,” Yasha said quietly. “It’s not my place to say, but I gather that she wasn’t a particularly… well, _good_ mother.”

“That’s a fair estimation,” Mollymauk replied. “She seems too flighty to have given what Jester really needs. She was very eager to make friends when she landed in our laps, what, a year ago?”

“Just about,” she replied, and Jester rushed in, carrying her notebook.

“Will you stay for a few minutes, Mr. Investigator?” She asked.

Caleb tensed, but acquiesced. “Sure,” he said, and stayed still while Jester went about drawing, her pen scratching impatiently against the paper. Meanwhile, he watched Mollymauk, who watched the proceedings with interest.

“What about me?” Nott asked, and Jester grinned, flipping the sketchpad over to reveal a quick outline of Caleb and Nott together, both of them looking pensive.

Nott beamed at it. “You did draw me! This is so nice!” She croaked, and admired it, coming closer to Jester to see everything.

“If you’d like I can draw you more!” Jester offered cheerfully.

“I’d like that! Caleb?” Nott asked, suddenly worried, as she turned to him.

Caleb was stuck. On one hand—he wanted nothing more than for himself and Nott to slip by unnoticed by the world, building an island unto themselves so that they would not be hurt by anyone else, ever again. But on the other hand—Nott had no other friends besides him. Even though his childhood had ended abruptly, he still had his fair share of good memories of being with friends, playing outside in the fields under the wide Bavarian sky that seemed to stretch forever.

Nott did not have those memories. Nott had, from what she had hinted at, a rather shitty childhood.

“We’ll come by,” he said. “As often as you’d like, but first is our work, yes? Then play.”

Jester cheered. “ _That is so good,_ thank you Inspector!” She turned to Nott, holding her hands. “You’ll have _so much fun_ back here with us, we run around and sing, and you should come to our practices! It’ll be fun! I can braid your _haaaaair_ , and dress you up all nice!”

“Investigator,” Caleb corrected quietly, but it seemed only Mollymauk heard, giving him a smirk.

“Seems that we’re all forgetting to do our jobs,” Yasha reminded in her quiet voice. It was amazing that when she was on stage, her voice became so majestic, something to really sit and stare at. “Don’t forget, Jester, we do have a job to do.”

“I know, I’m just saying—”

“Oh, let them have their fun. She’s always working hard, she never takes the night off like you or I do,” Mollymauk said, shaking his head.

“If we’re going to be a nuisance,” Caleb began, but seeing Nott’s large eyes turn to him in panic made him regret everything. “Perhaps not so often, then?”

“Maybe not _all_ the time,” Jester conceded, looking a little deflated, but she brightened when Nott nodded vigorously.

“I’d like that,” she said, and Caleb knew he had made the right choice.

“Come on, I’ll braid it now if you’d like!” Jester said cheerfully. “I don’t have to get ready as much as _Molly_ does, he’s always so picky.”

“I have _taste_ ,” he argued. “It’s a good thing.”

Jester merely rolled her eyes, and grabbed her brush.

 Nott immediately jumped back, blushing deeper. “No, no thank you,” she squeaked. “My hair isn’t very nice like yours.”

“It’s so long though! And pretty!”

But Nott kept shaking her head, wrapping the hood closer to her scalp, and Caleb remembered something else about children, and especially girls: they liked to have nice hair.

“Oh, Jester, one more thing,” he said, trying to think quickly. “Your mother, does she know what you’re doing? Working at the club, I mean.”

“Yeah, I mean, sort of.” Jester flushed deeply. “I think she mostly knows. She kinda… threw me out.”

 _Oh._ “I’m, um, sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, it’s fine, she didn’t _want_ to, but I played a prank on a client of hers, and well, I had to leave after that.” Jester looked at him directly as she said it, and she said it with so much honesty she could have been answering what her favorite color was. “But it’s okay! I’m here now, and I have friends, and getting money, and soon I’ll have more!”

Caleb nodded, and turned to Nott, still watching Jester with worried eyes. “I’m feeling a little tired,” he said, and Nott turned to him. “We have a long day tomorrow finding Jester’s money,” he reminded, and Nott nodded.

“Right.” She grinned shakily at Jester, then at Mollymauk and Yasha, who were watching them both with pensive eyes. “It was nice seeing you all again,” she said politely, and left the room. Caleb did the same, nodding to their new companions, and followed Nott out the door.

They made it past the store, leaving for the car, when Caleb stopped. “Nott,” he said. “Would you like,” he started, froze. He didn’t even know how women _did_ their hair. “Would you like to have a brush?”

She looked at him oddly. “A what?”

“A brush,” he said, and realized what a _terrible_ idea this was. “For your hair?”

She stared at him.

“I don’t know how other girls do hair,” he began, embarrassed at all the normal things he had no clue of. “But my mother brushed her hair constantly, and washed it with soap, and when it was done it would be nice and soft and clean. Would—would this be something you would be interested in?”

She blinked at him, and continued to stare at him. Did she feel as embarrassed as he did?

“I saw you talking with Jester,” he explained. “You’re worried about your appearance, _ja_?”

“I just want to look pretty,” Nott confessed in a soft voice, looking down at herself. “Pretty like Jester. Pretty like other girls. Not… Nott.”

“I can ask…” who would he ask? Who _could_ he ask? Not for the first time, he wished his mother were there, to comfort his little friend. “I can figure it out,” he said. “There are newspapers, and magazines, and things like that. Maybe even asking Jester what she does—”

“No!” she cried. “I don’t want her to know that I don’t know how to wash my hair!”

“Then I’ll look into it. It can’t be _so_ hard.” He hoped. “But Nott, you know you’re my friend, yes?”

“Yeah…”

“And you know I think the world of you, yeah?”

“You do?” She said, looking up at him again, her eyes watery.

 _Oh fuck._ “Yes, of course I do. You’re my friend. I want to make sure you’re happy, Nott.”

Nott rushed at him and wrapped her arms around his legs, burying her head into his hip. “I—I,” she tried to say through ragged breaths, and he patted her hood gently, still unsure where was alright for her to be touched. “I know,” he said, “I know. It’s okay, I’m here for you, Nott.”

They stood there until Nott had stopped shaking so hard, could breathe without sobbing so much, and just hugged him close.

“Would you like to see if they have a brush, Nott?” He said, nodding at the store. “Or maybe some chocolate?”

Nott looked up at him, and her wide mouth grinned. “I’d like that.”

The next day, after Nott had experimented with a shower and Caleb had tried, and failed, to braid it the effortless way his mother had done hers, they did what investigating they could. They trailed from the Bronx to the post office, finding out which routes go where, and interviewed the letter carriers. One dragonborn shrugged at them. “Look, it’s just normal letters,” she said. “I’m not going through them. I’m just doing my _job_.”

Finally, they landed at the Ruby of the Sea’s address, and interviewed the valet. He was quiet at first, not quite forthright, but finally sighed deeply, and told them in a low voice, “I’ve been hiding the letters from the Ruby,” he said. “The ones from her daughter.”

“But—why?” Nott asked. “Is there a reason she wouldn’t want to hear from her daughter?”

Caleb shot a look to Nott, but the valet made a face. “No, it’s not that. It’s that her daughter is a grown woman now, and if she’s always tugging on her purse strings, she’ll never really mature.” The man shook his head. “I don’t mean this in a cruel way, you understand, but I’m trying to teach her how to be independent.”

“This seems very shitty,” Nott said bluntly.

“I’d like to argue with you, Nott, but you’re right. It is shitty,” Caleb replied, and leveled the man with a _look_. “I would like to see the Ruby of the Sea, if you are not so inclined to give her the letters.”

“No, no, she’s with a client,” the man said, clearly panicking. “But I’ll give her the letters. Just… watch over her, if you could. She’s still so naïve about the world. Her songs are always so rude and mature, but she’s never really had anything else but her mother’s home.”

“We’ll watch after her,” Caleb said. “But if you don’t give the Ruby her letters, I will have to report you for mail fraud.”

The man sighed deeply, but agreed. “Do you have to tell Jester, detective?”

“Not if I word it carefully,” he said.

“Good. Tell her that the Traveler fixed it,” he said, and suddenly there was a door opening, a woman’s beautiful voice saying, “Goodbye, you sweet, sweet man,” and an answering man’s dumbfounded, “Buh-bye…”

“Quick, leave,” the valet said, and nearly threw them out of the house.

“So I guess we solved it,” Nott said, surprised, looking around them at the fine streets of Manhattan.

“I guess so,” Caleb replied. “This whole case was very odd.” He glanced at his watch, looked up at the setting sun. “Would you like dinner, and then to go back to the Fletching and Moondrop?”

“Yes! Can we get more of that Italian food?”

He grinned. “Let’s.”

Back at the club, Caleb informed Jester that the matter was taken care of, that there had been a thief of her letters—some jealous lover sort of thing, he told her, and she ate it up, which made him feel slightly bad—and that a man named the Traveler stopped it.

“The Traveler?” She said, her eyes wide. “Who is he?”

“Someone with a good reason to hide his name, I’m sure,” he said, and shook his head. “I’m not sure myself.”

“Well, who is it? Did you see him?”

“ _Nein,_ no, I did not see him. He was very mysterious,” he said, which unfortunately made her eyes gleam.

“I have a mysterious benefactor?” She asked, beaming widely. “This is wonderful, I didn’t think I would become so popular to have people _help_ me from the shadows, that’s the _bee’s knees,_ I should write my mother again, let her know that the Traveler has managed to save our letters,” she said, jumping up and down excitedly. “Oh, but I should pay you—we said fifty dollars, right?”

“ _Ja_ , Miss Jester,” he said, and she giggled, pulling out the wad of cash from a bright red clutch purse.

“You always sound so polite, you make me feel so grown up.” She handed him the piles of money and grinned. “Here you go! But don’t be a stranger, Mr. Widogast!”

“You know my name!” he replied, shocked.

“Well, I didn’t know it before today, I asked Gustav and Molly, and they remembered,” she said, closing her purse with a _snap_. “But you’ll come back soon, right?”

“Right,” he replied, and looked down at her, smiling. “After all, Nott is really excited to have another friend besides me. I’m not so much fun.”

Nott shook her head vigorously. “I think you’re plenty fun! But—” she croaked, looking hopefully at Jester. “Maybe you can teach me about how to look as pretty as you do?”

“Of course, Nott,” she said cheerfully, and offered her hand, which Nott held tentatively. “I think we’ll be wonderful friends.”


	3. Razzle Dazzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mollymauk has an issue, and he goes by the name of Caleb Widogast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer! Been a few rough days. But I will let you know that things are *slowly* heating up.

The first time Mollymauk Tealeaf had seen Caleb Widogast, Private Investigator, he had thought he had seen the world’s saddest man. He looked like he had expected a beating at every turn, and his taciturn face rarely changed expressions. On occasion, mostly when speaking to his goblin child (who knows how _that_ happened, but whatever, who was he to judge), or telling a very deadpan joke, he cracked a smile, but it was gone before Molly could really _look_ at him. He had always preferred much more exuberant people, or people who had interesting thoughts and ideas. (Jester was the first, with her bright eyes and giggles and too many rude jokes; Yasha was the second, quiet and calm but with a sharp tongue and sharper mind.)

But Caleb Widogast was a puzzle, and one he was terribly interested in.

He was, all in all, grateful for the man for saving his hide and that of the club’s—he refused to go back to jail, and certainly not _American_ jail, and he knew the others in the Fletching and Moonlight would be just as hesitant—but the deftness of his handling Jester’s case, and the story he had told later to Fjord about how he snuck into Kosh’s home, found what he was looking for, _jumped out a window onto rose bushes_ , and ended up only slightly torn up, was fascinating from what he could tell. Who knew he was interesting behind all that dirt and tired eyes?

After solving Jester’s case, the man retired for the night, but the next night, Mollymauk spotted him in the back corner as he walked around, laughing and chatting it up. He raised a glass to him in welcome, but when Molly tried to approach, Widogast turned to look at Nott as she said something to him, and then—of all the things that could have happened to _him_ , Mollymauk, the talk of the town—he got nervous, and turned to flirt with a half-elf woman who gave him a very saucy wink and a lick of her lips. Well, who was he to say no to _that_?

It was on a second walk of the room that Widogast looked up again, gave a small smile, and Molly’s heart thudded. He slid next to his table, and looked around. “Where’s your little friend?” He asked.

“She’s backstage, playing with Jester,” he said. “Is it playing at Jester’s age? No, they must be gossiping.”

“Jester is a horrible gossip,” Mollymauk supplied. “Tells everyone everyone else’s everything. I mean, I’m no better, but Jester is just a motor mouth.”

“I believe it.” He fell silent, and then shrugged. “At least Nott’ll have other friends to talk to.”

“She has you, right?”

“She has me,” he confirmed. “But I am an old man. She needs someone young like her that she can talk to.”

“You’re not old, Widogast, you’re, what, thirty? Thirty-five?”

“Thirty-one,” he replied. “Good guess.”

“Thanks, I’ve been practicing. It’s hard to tell with humans, you know, you don’t have as many wrinkles or horns as the rest of us do.” He propped himself up on the table, slid in front of him. “Enjoying the show so far?”

“Yes, very much. Your singing is quite good, Mr. Tealeaf.”

“Please, call me Mollymauk. You’ve definitely earned it, saving our lives there.” He flicked his tail to brush against Widogast’s leg, delighting when he saw him shift awkwardly, less so when he scooched away. Damn.

“It was no problem, Mollymauk,” he said, shaking his head. “Happy to do it.”

“And happy to be paid as well, right?”

“That, too. Money is good. Being able to eat is better than not being able to eat.”

Molly braced his arms behind him, leaned back, arched his chest up, and shook out his hair, then oh-so-casually looked to Caleb. Widogast, frustratingly, just looked puzzled at him. He sighed, and released the arch in his back. If he wasn’t going to play, then there was no point in wasting effort. “I like having money to eat, but really, Widogast, just… look at you. You should buy new clothes, get something good for yourself. Treat yourself right.”

Caleb shook his head. “I have me, Nott, and my cat to feed. Rent, gas money. And Nott herself needs new clothes too, more than I do. I don’t think she has a coat, and it’s nearly September. It’ll be getting chilly, soon.”

Molly stared at him for a moment, before shrugging a shoulder. “There’s a few thrift stores nearby,” he said. “Good place to find her something cheap.”

“That’s… that’s a good idea, Mollymauk,” he said, sounding surprised. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s a good way to find clothes for kids. And,” he said, angling his horns so that the jewelry on them dangled and danced in the light, “a good way to buy new disguises when I want to go around town.”

Caleb made a sound, and Molly looked hard at him, his jewelry tinkling with the action.

“Surprised by my popularity?”

“No, not at all. You’re in the papers, you know? I read of you all the time. I just never thought of you as a ‘hide from people’ kind of man.”

“Well, not usually,” Mollymauk confessed. “But on occasion, I have too many admirers, vying for my time.”

“Ah, and you want to run from them?” Caleb was still smiling softly.

“Sometimes,” he said, and then Fjord was on stage, announcing his next number. Mollymauk slid off the table, flicking his tail as he winked broadly back to Caleb, and hopped back on stage gracefully to start.

Mollymauk took that flirty half-elf woman home that night, let her know he wasn’t interested in a romance at the time, but gave her a _damn_ fine night. She left his apartment at ten the next morning, looking well-fucked and happy, and Molly was glad for it. It had been a good time, but gods, it was hard to wear the same mask that he wore day in, day out. The mask of the fashionable and arrogant prince of jazz was a fun one, he had to admit, but it was nice to put it away and just be himself. After she left, he took a long, luxurious bath, humming to himself as he washed his hair, and finally napped, snoozing until practice at five in the evening.

Mollymauk had not expected to see Caleb Widogast, PI, so soon—what reason did he have for coming by?—but when Nott brushed past him backstage with a ribbon in her newly brushed hair a few days later, laughing after Jester and Toya, he found Caleb looking apprehensive and lost.

“So, Private Eye Widogast, you’ve come by again—” he began, but then a trombonist barreled past him, hurriedly, chased by Orna, who was being yelled after by Gustav. When he looked back, Caleb was pressed against the wall, looking as bewildered as ever. Mollymauk sidled in next to him, half wishing he had put on the tails and the fabulous sparkling coat, the one he used for the finale, something nicer than the plain shirt and slacks he wore. Something to really make him shine. But Caleb looked at him in surprise, and smiled slightly anyways.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” Molly replied, and grinned. “You’ve come back! So soon?”

“Nott missed Jester. And then she met Gustav’s girl, that Toya? She hasn’t been able to stop talking about them. I promised her we’d come when we solved another case—” He was drowned out by another percussanist, and then Orna passed by with a glare to Molly that he gave back in full force. “But she was good, so we came by.”

“Lovely,” he replied, and grinned at the other man. “I’m glad you did too. Toya seems a lot happier, and so does Jester, come to think of it, but she’s always in a good mood.”

Caleb nodded, and then turned his head to an argument between Gustav and Fjord. “I should leave this chaos,” he said, and disappeared before Molly could get a chance to say anything more to him.

“Fine, we’ll switch deliveries, but I don’t see why—”

“—I don’t like that he’s hanging around my girl—” Gustav snarled back, and then looked at Mollymauk before glaring at him and shoving Fjord and himself in the Stage Manager’s Room and slamming the door shut.

Who was hanging around Toya? Nott? But Gustav had said he—so a man. But _everyone_ here hung around Toya, they were a club, they were a band, and Toya stayed in the backstage where everyone was. It didn’t make sense.

Mollymauk heard his name called, and left to tend to business for a new song he had been practicing.

During the breaks, he did a few walks through the dancefloor again, causing another Tiefling woman in her fifties to swoon when he offered to dance with her, and when her husband politely requested to dance with her, he gracefully bowed out, flirted with him as well, and left them. Mollymauk danced with a few other strangers, including a human man who blushed deeply when asked, but nodded anyways. He was surprisingly a fair dancer, but stepped on his toes a few times.

When it was the last break for the band and for himself, he found Caleb in a dark corner booth, with a few soft lights glowing from under a handkerchief next to him, and he was reading.

The man came to a dance hall, a fairly popular one too, and was reading.

“Widogast,” Molly said, walking up. “What in the gods’ names are you doing.”

Caleb looked up, startled, his eyes unfocused and focusing back on Mollymauk. “I’m reading,” he answered, looking confused.

“This is a dancehall, not a library,” he said, tapping his foot in mock anger. “You should be dancing. Or, I don’t know, have some fun! Have a few drinks, flirt with a few people. Find a gal or a guy to have a great time with.”

“I am having fun though,” he replied carefully. “This is fun for me.”

“What kind of applesauce is that,” he snapped. “Reading. At a jazz club. What’s next, are you going to start reading at a circus?”

“No,” he retorted. “Maybe. Look, I’m not bothering anyone, I don’t know why it matters—”

“Dance with me,” Molly said, and held out his hand. “If you’d like to, that is. At least once, so you have some fun before you leave tonight.”

Caleb stared at his hand, and then up to Mollymauk. “Why?”

“Because I like picking on the quiet guy,” he said. “Because you deserve some fun. When was the last time you danced with someone?”

Caleb’s gaze went far off as he thought about it. “Too long,” he replied quietly. “I don’t even know how to dance like… like you do. All those… things you do.” It was clear he was struggling for words, in English or German. Maybe both.

Molly sighed, and leaned in closer. “If you don’t want to dance, I won’t make you,” he said. “But I think you’ll like it if you try.”

“You’re not just doing this to tease me?” Caleb asked, and hurt flashed like lightning on his face.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Never. Not like this.” He paused. “It’s just a dance, not life or death. And not forever. But it’d be a shame if you came to a dance hall and didn’t dance.”

Caleb stared at him, and then at the dance floor, and carefully placed a folded piece of paper into the book, and with a quick flick of the wrist he extinguished the glowing lights, and put the cloth on the table next to the book and his hat. “If you think it will be fun,” he said, and rose, putting his hand in Molly’s. “It has a been a long time. Please tell me when I do something wrong.”

Leading Caleb out to the space made by the tables felt wildly different, a new sensation. His heart was racing—what if he didn’t show Caleb a good dance? What if he wasn’t good enough? What if he didn’t have fun—but when he turned around to face him, Widogast’s eyes were focused on him, puzzled, but with a hint of a smile.

“Just follow my lead,” Mollymauk said, feeling slightly more in control now that he was here in the dance floor. He stepped closer to him, pressed against him gently, slipping his free hand below Caleb’s shoulder blades, shifting their joined hands so that they were holding them up. “This is called the Foxtrot. It’s very simple, just a little walking and sidestepping. We’ll go slowly, there’s no rush,” he said soothingly, but it was a different experience telling the man and looking him in the eyes. They were incredibly blue, like cornflowers. He smelled like soap, like sweat and smoke and . His hand clutched Molly’s for a moment, before shifting more comfortably—and Molly started moving.

The Foxtrot wasn’t hard. It was meant to be a dance for most everyone to be able to pick up, and if it was hard then you were doing it wrong.

Caleb was doing everything wrong. He was stiff as a board, kept looking at his shoes, and looked vaguely panicked. But Molly just grinned, saying, “Easy, now,” and tried his damnedest to look as relaxed as possible to set him at ease. “That’s better, love, now,” he said after Caleb began _actually_ following his lead. “Are you not used to following?”

“Not very,” he admitted. “But I am also not used to dancing, so.”

“Well, consider it this way. Once you’ve turned around the room with me, you’ll have it down, and then you can lead to your heart’s content. Just a bit of walking, a few turns, here we go.”

“This is terrible,” he muttered.

“You’re getting it,” Molly replied, grinning. “See, you haven’t stepped on my feet for at _least_ a minute.”

“Don’t jinx me.”

But by the first time they had turned the room, Caleb had barely stepped on his feet. By the second time, he looked him in the eye and grinned, relieved and amazed. “This isn’t so hard now.”

Mollymauk found his heart, considered one of the coldest in New York City, pounding hard. He wanted to kiss him, lean in and capture his mouth, chase the taste of his breath with his tongue. He leaned forward and licked his lips, gauging Caleb’s reaction, but when the other man pulled away, narrowed eyes analyzing his gesture, Molly felt his heart sank. Well, nothing ventured nothing gained, he supposed, and put on a brilliant grin.

“You finally got it,” he said, and slid them to the edge of the dance floor before breaking contact. “Now you’ll be able to woo everyone with a passable Foxtrot.”

“I do not think I will be doing any wooing any time soon, Mollymauk,” he said. “But thank you for the dance.”

“Anytime,” he said, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Now you can go back to your book.”

Caleb looked grateful, and turned away abruptly, before Molly grinned and tried not to look like he was fleeing for backstage.

He found the men’s changing room and sequestered himself in there, taking a few deep breaths to rid himself of the sudden onslaught of rejection, when a giggle erupted behind him. He whirled around to see Nott and Toya hiding badly behind a chair, their wide eyes bright against Nott’s green skin, Toya’s sepia.

“Girls?” He began, confused, but shaking his head. “Toya, you know you’re not supposed to be here.”

“I was just showing Nott what it’s like!” She argued, standing tall, which wasn’t very tall at all for a Dwarf. “You always have the prettiest things!”

“I heard there were pretty things,” Nott piped up, standing next to Toya.

Mollymauk narrowed his eyes at the two of them. “Pretty things,” he said. “Well, sure, we have pretty things. But mostly really _boring_ things. Terribly boring.” He walked over to the closet, holding most of the costumes for the night, searched until he found a bright pink feather boa, draped it over his shoulders. “Like this? Terribly boring. It’s the most _boring_ thing we have here.”

The girls laughed as he sashayed around, and then draped it over the two of them, tucking it around their slender shoulders. “Okay, now, will this do?”

“Yeah,” Toya said. Nott merely nodded.

“Okay, then. Scram,” he said with a grin, and they ran off, clutching the feathered thing between them.

And then there was his cue from Fjord to get on stage, and he had no more time to think until after the show. It had been another hour, but Caleb and Nott were gone, and as Molly walked alone to his apartment, he had time to consider the sour-sweet half-formed crush he had. It was nothing, a small featherless bird in his chest, but such sweet things often fell apart quickly, faded into nothingness as he grew to know the person. It would be just like that, he knew. Nothing was lost on such cloud-like crushes. He’d sleep, and forget the whole thing.

And he had forgotten it for a few days until he was lounging backstage, fussing with his hair, when he saw Nott and Toya race past the open door, Jester following behind closely and giggling loudly. Gustav, who had been speaking with Bryce, one of the bandmembers, growled under his breath and stomped up to the doorframe to yell, “GIRLS. NO RUNNING.”

“SORRY,” came the unison response, and Mollymauk grinned to himself. Ah, children.

But with Nott came Caleb, and before he could stop himself, he found himself peering through one of the curtains to see the man. There he was—corner booth, a few flickering lights, and reading. His heart flipped again, seeing him intent on the page.

_Oh no. Oh no no no._

“Molly?” Someone asked behind him, and he jerked the curtains closed before turning to see Yasha, looking at him with mild interest. “What are you doing?”

“Yasha, my love, my sweet, my—I was just looking for that Widogast character.”

“Is he out there?” She moved to peek outside as well, but Mollymauk pushed her hand aside.

“Don’t, we don’t want him to see us staring at him. He's a private eye, he probably hates being stared at.”

She made a face before rolling her eyes. “Okay. You’re probably right.”

“Of course I’m right. Now, listen, what do you think of him?”

She shrugged. “He seems a good guy,” she replied in her soft-as-silk voice. “Hasn’t told the cops on us, hasn't given anyone trouble.” Then she looked at him, suspicious. “Why do you ask?”

“Thinking about calling it in, being a private investigator myself. Can't you see me skulking around in bushes, taking notes, never being seen?”

Yasha snorted, and tapped him with the back of her hand on his shoulder. “I can see you willing to not be seen on the day you run out of that stuff you put in your hair, but only that.” She reached up to touch it, but he ducked out of her way.

“Hey!”

“That's what I thought. Come on, Gustav wants to run through things one last time before curtains.”

“Alright, alright,” Molly grumbled, and got back to work.

Later, during his break, he approached Caleb's booth, standing at the very edge, expecting him to stop reading and look up. But Caleb did not do that, instead continued down the page. Molly took the mild awkward moment to stare at him, at the reddish brown curls, the scruff on his jaw, the way the light caught his eyelashes and turned them into burnished gold. _Oh no._

“Yes?” Caleb asked, his eyes still locked on the book in front of him. “Do you want something?”

“May I say hello?”

The other man looked up, froze, and then gave the smallest half-smile that Molly had ever seen. “Oh. Hello, Mollymauk.”

“Hello to yourself, handsome,” he replied smoothly, barely even thinking about it. He tilted his head, letting his horn jewelry jingle around him. “You’re back to reading.”

“I am.”

The man was taken aback, he could see, made uncomfortable by… what? Him? Wanting to smooth any feathers, he nodded to the book. “What book is it this time?”

Caleb put a long finger on the page he had been reading, and closed the book around him so that he could show it to Molly. Yellow eyes peered out of a blue cover, the latest book from F. Scott Fitzgerald.

“ _The Great Gatsby?”_ Mollymauk asked. “How is that?”

“Good,” Caleb replied. “There’s a lot about unattainable desires and how wealth can rarely give you what you need, but these people are the very rich, so I’m not very excited about it, but the characters are interesting.”

Mollymauk grinned. That was more words than Caleb seemed willing to give if it was not part of his job. “Who says wealth can’t make you happy?”

“Apparently the terribly rich. But they have never been hungry a day in their life either, so.” He shrugged.

“And you have?”

Caleb, who had seemed to come out of his shell just slightly, pulled right back in, damn it all. “ _Ja_ , but I’m doing alright now.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry—” Of course he did, he was aching to learn about him. “—I just wanted to offer—”

“Please do not offer. I thank you, and it is kind of you, but I am doing alright.” His jaw was set. “I think it is your song up next, Mr. Tealeaf.”

Well gods fucking dammit. Mollymauk turned on his heel and walked up to the stage, getting ready to sing as Fjord announced him once again, cursing the progress with Caleb he had just lost. But did it even matter? He was just a guy who came into the club. Guys like him, they were a dime a dozen.

But as Molly sang, he had to force himself to look over the entire crowd, and not just Caleb.

By the second set, while Jester did her dance, Mollymauk watched from another curtain as Caleb held Nott and headed for the exit, the goblin fast asleep in his arms. His heart twisted with disappointment as the man left the club, and with horror at his own foolish heart for getting in this predicament.

The next time he saw Caleb, however, he was ready. He slid into the man’s booth, just outside of Caleb’s space, and leaned his elbow on the table, his hand framing his face _just so_. “Caleb, dear,” he began, and Caleb’s eyebrows shot up before his eyes left the page of the new book he was reading. “I was hoping I could ask you for some help.”

“What kind of help?” He sounded hesitant.

“The kind that involves an investigation.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m willing to pay. Interested?”

Caleb locked eyes with him, quiet, but then slid a torn piece of paper into the book he had been reading, closed the book, gave a deep sigh. “What would you like me to investigate, Mr. Tealeaf?”

“Molly,” he corrected. “Mollymauk if you _must_ be formal, but really, we’re nearly friends at this point.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied, but there was the _slightest_ hint of a smirk. “What is wrong?”

“My earrings,” he said. “My mother’s earrings. She brought them all the way from Dublin, and they’re the only thing I have left of hers.” He blinked, looked away, looked back, and if there were tears in his eyes, well, never let it be said he was not a good actor.

Caleb’s face returned to stoicism, and he nodded. “Where did you last have them?”

“Just backstage, a few minutes ago.”

“And you came to me instantly, instead of looking for them yourself?”

“I wanted you to be entertained a bit more. That’s what we do here, we _entertain_.” He tilted his head, revealing his neck. Caleb glanced at it, and then back at him, and there was something lurking in the back of that man’s head, Mollymauk could tell.

“So you make up stories for me?”

“No, no, I lost my mother’s earrings, and thought of you immediately. Please, help me? I’ll pay you.”

“For finding your earrings? That’s hardly worth—”

“It wasn’t an offer, it was a fact. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Caleb looked at him silently, and then nodded. “Well, I will help you find your earrings.”

“Oh good. Saves me from my dear mother’s wrath.” Molly slid out of the booth, then held out a hand for him. “You haven’t been scolded until you’ve been scolded by an Irish Tiefling.”

The corner of Caleb’s mouth turned up. “I have heard many fearsome tales of Irish mothers.”

“They have the _wooden spoons_. Now every time I go to stir something in my kitchen I get the shivers and start apologizing.”

Caleb chuckled. “I wonder who is scarier, an Irish mother or a German one?”

“That sounds like an argument I would pay to watch,” he commented, and led him down to backstage, into the men’s changing room, into his personal box of baubles and goodies. “It was right here. They’re golden with emerald centers, beautiful as anything you could find, go really well with my color.”

“Alright. I’ll try my best,” Caleb said as he began to pore over it, picking through pieces gently.

“Please. My mother, it’ll kill her if I lose them.”

Caleb muttered something in German, but Molly didn’t mind. Privately he meandered, almost as if he didn’t mean to, and undid his wallet he kept in the cupboard. He found a few twenties—hopefully that would be enough for a small task, something to tide him over, maybe he could give a suggestion to buy Nott some new clothes, if he won’t do it—when he looked for the earrings he had stashed at the bottom, along with some unfolded clothes.

They weren’t there. The earrings were really, really gone.

Well, shit.

“Well they’re not in here,” Caleb commented, and then looked all around the ordered chaos of the changing room. “I’ll check all around.”

“I’ll help,” Molly said, his heart racing. They really _were_ from his mother, and yes, they had some sentimental value, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t figure out. Mostly, though, they were _his_ , and now they were _gone._

“Okay. You start from that corner, and I’ll start on this corner. Gold earrings with an emerald, right?”

“Right,” he replied, and began quietly having a breakdown, looking now frantically for the earrings.

They scoured the room, making sure that the other didn’t leave any path untraveled, when they met in the middle. “I think,” Caleb said quietly, “that someone must have stolen it.”

“But who?” Molly replied, no longer acting.

“Do you trust everyone on the crew?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And no one but the men come in here?”

“No, no women are allowed back here.” Except—Nott and Toya had been in here not too long ago.

Caleb shook his head. “Then it must be a man here.”

“Good point,” he said, and walked out the door to the main backstage. He looked around briefly, and saw a flash of pink fluff running off into one of the utility closets. “You go ask Fjord if he saw anything, and I’ll go ask Gustav, I think I saw him walk this way.”

He followed the trail of dyed pink feathers into one of the dark corners, where a tall cabinet that had been half-broken as long as he had been there stood. There was a quiet “ _shhh_ ” as he stepped up.

“Girls?” He asked, his voice no longer than a whisper. “Toya? Nott? Are you two hiding back there?”

“No?” Nott’s unmistakably croaky voice answered from behind the cabinet.

“I think you are,” he said, and opened the door, revealing the two girls crouching and blinking in the sudden light.

“Well, there you are,” he said, and bent down to look at them. The pink boa was wrapped around Toya many times over, a good deal more bedraggled than when he had given it to them, and Nott’s hands were clenched over something. “Girls,” he said, in that same low reasonable voice. “Did you take my earrings?”

“Don’t tell Papa,” Toya asked in her raspy voice. “He’ll be mad!”

“I’m not going to tell,” he said. “I just want to know where they are.”

“They’re mine,” Nott cried. “I found them on the floor, where no one looked, and I’m going to keep them.” She held her fists closer to her, like he would rip them out of her hands right then and there.

“Alright,” Molly said. “That’s fair. I did put them on the floor. But—listen. They’re my mother’s, and now I’ve got Caleb looking for them, so I would like them back.”

“No!” Nott curled in tighter. Any tighter of a ball, and she would become a roly-poly bug.

“What if I give you something else in return? Something just as good?”

Nott’s eyebrows shot up, and she looked at him suspiciously. She looked so much like Caleb at that moment, he almost grinned. “I’m listening.”

Molly quickly undid the earrings he wore now—gold with diamonds that sparkled in the light. He held up to her, and she tried to grab it, which he pulled just out of her reach. “Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head, now devoid of most of the jinglies he had on him. “Fair trade, nice and easy.”

“Okay…” Nott said, and held out her hands at the same time he did. The trade was quick, smooth, an almost beautiful dance of two people desperately wanting what the other had.

“Good, good. Thank you both, very much.” He saluted them briefly. “Now, should I shut the door, or—”

“Oh _there_ you are,” Gustav said, and Molly swiveled to look up to see Yasha, Gustav, and Caleb looking at him curiously. “What are you all doing?”

“The girls were just helping me find my earrings,” he said smoothly, glancing at their panicked expressions as they tried to hide in the closet. “They said they saw them in the women’s changing room?”

“We just looked in there,” Caleb said.

“Maybe we should check again,” Molly offered, and stood up. “Maybe I left it there when I was talking to you, Yasha?”

“I don’t remember your earrings,” she said.

“I think I had them there,” he said. “I’ll go look.”

The troupe followed him as he strode into the women’s changing room, Jester eating a donut and looking confused as all the other people walked in. “What’s all the fuss about?”

“I lost my earrings, did you see them?” Molly slipped them behind a few bottles of potions and lotions on the table against the wall-to-wall mirror, turned around, and started to make a big show of looking everywhere. Caleb helped, peering into every possible hiding hole, before Molly anxiously asked, “Maybe they’re behind the mirror?”

Finally, miracles of miracles, Caleb found his hiding spot. “Are these them?” He asked, holding them up.

“Oh my gods, yes they are,” Molly said, possibly _too_ breathlessly? “You did it!” He took them, marveled at them, held them close to his still hard-beating heart. That was _too_ close.

“It was no problem,” Caleb said, and then another smile, soft and sweet, that made this whole adventure worth it.

“Here you go,” Molly said, handing him the twenties. “You deserve it.”

“This is too—” Caleb started, but pocketed it all the same. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.”

“If we have had this minor crisis finished,” Gustav said, tapping his foot. “Molly, you’re supposed to be on stage _thirty seconds ago._ ”

Suddenly everything was a chaotic mess again, and Molly nearly sprinted onto stage, half-missing his cues and managing to miss a few notes before he caught up again. But it was all okay in the end, thank the gods. He had his mother’s earrings (not that she would care, not after what he had done), the girls were not discovered to be thieves (but he would have a talk with them), and Caleb had smiled (oh, what a good smile it was too.)

In the end, he pulled it off brilliantly. And he was that much closer to Caleb Widogast, Private Eye.


	4. Come Fly With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nott has dragged Caleb into the Fletching and Moondrop every night. It's only natural that Mollymauk would say something.
> 
> Edited to add an Important Scene wherein Molly moons about Caleb to Yasha for a good forty minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that I have NO idea about anything in New York so I had some fun researching where people vacationed in New York in the 1920s.

Nott dragged Caleb out every night to the club. Sure, it was fine for her, she talked to Jester and Toya, and she often fell asleep next to him around one or two in the morning, leaning against his arm as he read. And it was fine for him, too, mostly—he got to read while people danced and chatted around him, and most of the time he was able to block out the noise. But there was a definite ache in his chest watching her be enveloped so easily by the crew of the Fletching and Moondrop. Maybe he was lonely. The thought had occurred to him once or twice before Nott had met her friends, and more now that he was so pointedly left out in the dust. But every time he thought about opening up, calling over Beau or Fjord to join in a beer with him, he clammed up, feeling as nervous and shaky as a newborn foal. No, no, he was better off letting her be the social one.

On this night, though, he put the book to the side of him, and watched the show. It was good, surprisingly—even if he had seen it _multiple_ times now. There were slight changes to every night, little jokes that Fjord stirred up with the clientele, winks that Molly gave out to members of the crowd, and of course Jester would run out in front of random strangers during her act, blow a kiss, and hop away before her skirt would invariably fly over her ass, revealing a lacy sort of thing that Caleb made sure never to look at. It was a nice show, to be sure. Caleb watched patiently, thumbing the edges of his book nervously as he watched, always tempted to put himself back in the safety of words, but didn’t. Instead, during the breaks he watched people dance together, laugh, have a few drinks, and generally have a good time.

 He was especially interested by a young couple, kissing and laughing together at the bar, one gentlman’s hand on his partner’s thigh, the other man’s grin turned up to his lover. They were happy, and in love, and Caleb missed that terribly. The gentle touches, the small smiles shared, the world only the two of you know. Even looking at them felt dirty, like peering into another’s house, and he looked away—only to see Mollymauk, dressed in a high-waisted form-fitting pinstriped trouser pants and white shirtsleeves, with suspenders hanging off his shoulders, emphasizing his lean but muscular features, standing at his booth. He was eyeing the couple curiously as well. “Do you know them?” He asked.

“No, I don’t,” Caleb replied, and looked up at the Tiefling. “Good evening. Aren’t you supposed to be dancing with one of your fans?” Even now, there were men and women watching him, talking to Caleb, their expressions both lustful and jealously looking at... him. The realization made him shrink further into his overcoat, his shoulders drawn up.

“Not if I don’t want to,” he said, and nodded at the table. “May I sit with you?”

Caleb nodded.

“Good. I’m tired,” he said, and sat down with a relieved sigh. “You know, I knew it would be hard, and I knew it was actual work, but they don’t tell you about how hard it is to fucking stand in high heels for half the night.”

Caleb peeked down, and Molly flexed his ankles, showing off the strappy high heels he had worn during the set. They were, in fact, sparkly blue, shining like diamonds even in the low light under the table.

“Those do look painful,” he replied, wincing. “Why not wear normal shoes?”

“Those are boring,” Mollymauk replied. “I wanted something fun. Plus, I look good in them. Fuckable, even.”

Caleb blushed deeply, hating that he did so, and looked at the book in front of him on the table.

Beside him, Molly sighed deeply, but finally reached over and tapped the edge of his book. “Which one is it tonight?”

“Jane Austen, _Pride and Prejudice,_ ” he replied, finally looking up to see Mollymauk… actually intrigued. “Are you a big reader?”

“Me? Not very much. When I’m bored, I guess. But I haven’t read that one, please, mind telling me about it?”

“Well, a woman meets a man who is terribly unpleasant, and he insults her and her family, and she spends a good deal of time finding out why he is terrible, with his ruining another man’s wealth and his ruining her sister’s marriage proposal, only now she is beginning to realize that she was terribly mistaken and may have caused more destruction on both ends because she was furious and insulted, and Darcy—that’s the name of the gentleman in question—tells her all the reasons why she was wrong.”

“Sounds like Shakespeare at that point,” Mollymauk quipped, and Caleb barked a laugh out of surprise.

“Yes, that is exactly so!” Caleb smiled at the other man. “But Shakespeare could only do so much in a play—this has so many other layers in it. Stories about her sisters, her arguments with her best friend about marrying a bore—”

“Surely a boar would have tusks, though—that would be hard for kissing in the wedding vows.”

He chuckled hard, finding a bloom of appreciation for Mollymauk’s wit and humor. Oh, maybe a friend in him? That would be an interesting friendship.

“No, no, a bore. Someone boring. Like me.”

“You are a private investigator and you’ve got the best smile I’ve seen all day,” Mollymauk replied. “You are hardly a bore.”

Caleb grinned, even if he knew he was lying. But it was a good sort of lie, a friendly sort of lie. “Well you haven’t talked to me very much. I read a lot on my spare time. I work and I read, that’s it.”

“Hm. Well, you work and you read and you come down here, so that’s something else that’s not boring.” Molly leaned in closer. “You should dance sometime. With me, if you’d like, or we can find you someone else?”

“No, no, I don’t want to dance with someone else.” Dancing with Mollymauk had been fun, but dancing these new moves were confusing, and he was terrified that he would bump into someone on the close, tight dance floor and ruin their night, ruin everything. “I don’t want to dance, period.”

“Well, how about a drink, then? Or a game of cards?” Mollymauk leaned his elbow on the table and propped his head on his open palm. Something tugged at Caleb’s heart at his earnest expression, his smile curling.

“A drink?” A drink with a friend sounded exactly what he had been wanting. “A drink sounds good, _ja_.”

“I’m thirsty as well. Here, what are you having, let me get it for you.”

“A good beer would be…” he shook his head. “ _Gut_.”

“A beer man! I should have guessed. Do you do that cheers thing? The ones Germans do?”

Caleb’s throat closed as all the tension clenched his muscles. “No, I don’t,” he said.

“Ah, shame. I’ve drunk with Germans before, they were the loveliest people, if loud as fuck. So, a beer?”

“Y-yes,” he stammered, reaching for his wallet, when Mollymauk shook his head.

“Nope, it’s on me. For finding my ring earlier.” He left without hearing anything else, and spoke to Fjord, his tail flicking slightly.

Caleb breathed slowly, trying to calm his racing heart, but he couldn’t help but listen to the racing thoughts. _He’s just interested in you as a German. He sees you as German, as one of the enemy. He sees you as a novelty, as something interesting, and you’re not, you’re not German, you’re American, you left it when you came over, left Deustchland und deine Eltern*—_

“Caleb?” Molly asked, carrying the drinks—a tall glass full of amber liquid, and a shorter glass full of a darker, richer liquid. “Are you alright?”

He shook his head hard, muttered, “ _Ja, ja,_ I’m fine.” _Fuck. Now you’ve shown him how you’re broken, you’re not normal, normal people don’t do this, you’re the worst, you’re—_

“You look less than fine.” Mollymauk slid in next to him, his horn jewelry tingling, and wearing all his bright colors, his whole presence shocking Caleb out of the loop of shit he had grown accustomed to. “Here, drink this,” he said quietly, sliding over the beer. “What happened? Someone say something to you?”

“ _Nein, nein_. No one said anything to me.” He took a sip—it was swill, but it was beer, and cold, which was a relief on his suddenly parched throat.

“Hm. Well, if no one talked to you, and you look like that, that means I did something. Was it the beer? The money?” Caleb shook his head. “The thing about Germans?”

Caleb froze, and Molly nodded decisively. “Ah, it was about that. I didn’t know you were sensitive to it. Trying to live past your history, right? I know a thing or two about that.” He took a sip of his alcohol, the slightest expression of something _else_ flitting across his face before he looked back to Caleb, his face once again confident, his smile warm. “Well, I won’t bring it up again, if that’s alright with you?”

He cleared his throat, still working against the tension. “ _Ja_ , sounds good.”

“Alright, then. Cheers,” he said, and lifted his glass. Caleb lifted his own to clink softly against it, making sure to lock eyes with Mollymauk’s red ones. Mollymauk seemed taken aback, but smiled back, staring back at him, until they both raised their glasses and drank.

It was okay. It was okay. Mollymauk was not leaving because he was not wanting to be seen as a German, they had toasted, it was alright. Caleb swallowed, working his throat against the tightness, and said, “Did you know, where I grew up, if you break eye contact during a toast, it’s bad luck? And you get seven years of bad sex.”

Having almost drank from his whiskey, Mollymauk snorted and threw his head back, the glass in his hand landing hard on the table. “You’re fucking joking. I don’t remember if I blinked or not.”

“You didn’t. You’re still safe,” Caleb replied.

“Oh, thank the gods! I’d have to give up sex altogether to avoid it. Seven years? I don’t think I could survive.”

Caleb laughed. “I’m sure it’s nothing so bad. It’s just a superstition, after all.”

“Just a superstition?” He clapped a hand against his chest, a wounded expression on his face. But a smile prickled under that frown, and Caleb felt comforted by it. “My good Caleb, I take superstitions and sex equally as seriously.” He reached into a pocket into his trousers, wiggling and arching hard in his desperation to get through the tight-fitting trousers, but finally he pulled out a slim deck of cards, not nearly enough to be a deck of playing cards. The backs of them were dark blue, with a single peacock feather drifting from the top.

“What are those?”

“These, love, are tarot cards. Read the future, read the past, read our deepest secrets and desires. Here, I’ll do one for you.” He splayed them out, and closed his eyes and picked one, seemingly at random. He drew it, opened his eyes, and smiled at it before revealing a delicate but elaborate drawing of a skeletal knight bearing flags on a white horse. “Death!”

“Death? My future is Death?” Caleb tasted the word and revolted, shaking his head. He didn’t want to die—even if he couldn’t tell what he was exactly living for.

“No, no, Death, it’s more like winter, you know? Means that something is dying, usually something that’s keeping you down, keeping you on a path that isn’t the most beneficial, and Death comes in like spring, taking off all the dead weeds and plants and growing something new, something better. It’s one of the most important cards to get actually: means everything’s changing for the better.”

“And for our next act, Mollymauk the Talented!” Fjord called out, sounding a little impatient as he did so. Had this been the second time? Caleb winced for both of them, but Molly shrugged his finely shaped shoulders, folded the cards into a pile, and got up, shoving them back in his pants. He threw back the rest of his whiskey, shook his head and made a face, and grinned at Caleb.

“I’m coming back for another one, don’t let anyone take my drink.” And then he went on, already singing with the band, and Caleb’s heart thudded in his chest.

_Oh. Oh no._

That flighty, bubbly feeling in his stomach erupted, the sensation all but alien to him. He knew _exactly_ what that meant, what it felt like to have that rise of happiness in his chest, the feel of him still present on the seat next to him. He knew, and the feeling of it, after so long, made him nauseated. He almost rose to leave, but Mollymauk had asked him to keep his drink, had said he was coming back, he wanted another drink with him.

Another burst of _Schmetterlinge**_ in his stomach, and he thoroughly tamped them down, squashing them back to the pits that they lived in. No. Mollymauk was _infamous_ for dating funnier, wealthier, more beautiful people than he was. He wanted to be a friend and have some drinks. There was _nothing_ that was going to happen.

Mollymauk, now singing a particularly sweet song, looked over his way and winked before looking out over the rest of the crowd, winking at another person, and this time, the butterflies were battling against his anxious nerves. _He doesn’t want you_ , Caleb told himself. _You’re plain and boring and poor. He wants no kind of person like you. Your soul is broken, with uneven lumps, and Mollymauk deserves the world._

The words settled heavy on Caleb’s heart, dragging it down in concrete and chains, smashing the butterflies on the way down.

To calm himself down, to distract from his sorrows, he buried his nose in the book once more.

He had just read of Elizabeth’s meeting of Lady deBough when Mollymauk slid back into his seat, grunting as he did so. “You’re kidding me. You’re reading again? I sing my heart out and you’re not even paying attention?” He held his chest. “You wound me.”

“Forgive me, I was too drawn in,” Caleb replied, unable to stop from smiling. _No, don’t do that, butterflies_. They did not listen, like they didn’t listen all those years ago with the pastor’s boy.

“Hm-mm.” Mollymauk didn’t sound convinced. “Well. I don’t have much time on my break, but did you want another drink?”

“No, that’s good for me tonight. I don’t like to drive with so much alcohol in me.”

“Probably a good idea,” he said, and grinned. “Of course, if you wanted, I could walk you back to my place, let you sleep there.”

_He doesn’t want you, don’t listen to the words, listen to the man. He gets much better sex from much better people. You’re nothing._ “Myself and Nott?” He asked.

“Nott can sleep over with Jester,” he replied easily. “I heard them talking about spending more time together, and Jester wanting to take Nott out to her mother’s vacation home.”

Panic surged through him. “Now?”

“No, sometime later,” he replied. He had another glass of whiskey on him now, but he sipped this one, taking a pained breath as he drank it down. “They were going to ask you, I believe. Somewhere north.”

“How north?”

“Her mother owns a nice house in New Haven. It takes, hm, about a day by train?”

Caleb’s mouth was dry. A day without Nott, and then what would he do? What would he be? Work would be impossible without her—she was like a lodestone to him, present and constant and a reason for him to _keep_ working, keep bringing home money so that he could buy her and Frumpkin food, and without her he would feel useless.

“I’m sure if you asked,” Mollymauk said gently, “she’d let you come. Actually,” he added thoughtfully, and began grinning hugely. “That’s not a half-bad idea, going off for a vacation. I think we damn well deserve it. Get a little cozy cabin, find somewhere quiet to listen to birds, you can read all you want—I like it. We should do it.” He looked ready to fly, his elbows up as he began to lift himself back up from the seat.

“I wouldn’t be able to do it,” Caleb said quickly. “I have too many cases, I need the work. And the money.”

Mollymauk made a face and sighed. “Fuck, you’re right.” He slumped in the chair. “Ah well. Maybe when Jester takes Nott, I’ll take you around New York the way it should be seen.”

“I’ve seen New York,” he argued, grinning—it was impossible not to smile at such a man. “We _live_ here.”

“But you have been working—I’ve been living.” He nudged Caleb, his red eyes locked on his. “You haven’t lived in New York until you’ve seen the lights at night, seen people decked out in the fanciest garb they can buy or steal, haven’t lived until you’ve had the crispest champagne money can buy.”

Caleb was already shaking his head. “None of that sounds appealing.”

“No? Okay, maybe you’re not a party person. Or a champagne person. But you would love the lights, I’m sure.”

“I’ve seen them,” Caleb replied. “ _Everyone’s_ seen them.”

“Yeah but you haven’t seen them when the moon is full, have you?” Molly grinned. “There’s going to be a full moon in a week, and I wanna take you to see it. You’ll love it. And,” he said, holding out a slim, purple finger. “And, I can get you into the best bookstore the world has.”

The butterflies were winning once again, but so was the warmth in his blood—but that was the beer, of course, nothing else, nothing at all. “Which bookstore?”

“Greenwich Village Bookshop***,” he said, a grin curling on his face. “You’ll love it. It’s where all the musicians and artists and writers collect, and my _gods_ it’s a wonderful atmosphere. Makes you think about doing great things! Great music, great art, great writing, great sex!”

Caleb snorted. “Bullshit.”

“Strike me down if I lie,” Mollymauk replied, and grinned. “Look, it doesn’t even have to be in a full moon, or when Nott is away. I just want to show you the bookshop, maybe take you out to the best supper you’ve ever had, and then we can go from there. What do you say?”

_He doesn’t like you like that_ , the voice whispered. _He’s doing this because he pities you._

Maybe so, but he was well due for some fun on the town without worrying about everything. “I’d love to,” he replied, and once again bubbles erupted inside when Molly reached out and tapped the back of his hand.

“Atta boy!” He cheered. “We’ll have some fun!”

His anxiety crashed down on him all at once, shattering any illusion of butterflies, but before he could rush away, Mollymauk was called back up. He groaned, rolled his eyes, and said, “Well, the show must go on,” and then leapt up. “How does a week from Monday sound? Meet me upstairs at three if we want to go to the bookstore!” And then he was off, crooning from the center of the dance floor, singing to a couple of half-elf women, giggling as they danced together.

Just as Caleb felt as if he was about to explode, Nott appeared with Jester in tow. “Caleb! Jester asked me to go with her to New Haven for a _week_!” She exclaimed, and then furrowed her brow. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing, I just… nothing. What was this, Nott?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“I’m fine,” he said, trying for finality but ending terribly weakly. “New Haven?”

“It’s _really_ nice,” Jester said. “My mother said I could go _any time I want_ , and so I was thinking, since it’s been _so_ nice lately, upstate New York is _so_ pretty in autumn, and Nott could come with me and we could have fun, there’s lots of things to do there! We could take _waaalks_ , we could go to the _beeeach_ , we could see everything there!” She beamed. “And we’re taking Mr. Traveler, my mother’s butler, so you don’t have to worry about an escort!”

“You don’t have to decide now,” Nott said, climbing into the seat next to him. “But I’d really like to go. I like spending time with Jester.”

Caleb looked at her, breathing deeply. Her large eyes were clearly worried about him, but she reached out and held his hand as nimbly as anyone ever could, and squeezed. It was a small gesture, but he felt it deep in his heart, like a pain but also nothing like that at all. It felt… good. Safe. Solid. “You can go,” he said quietly, and then smiled. “You two will be safe out there, won’t you?”

“Absolutely! I was thinking about bringing Fjord too,” Jester said, and then giggled—and Nott joined in. “He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”

He snorted. “He’s very handsome,” he said, and turned to Nott. “Are you alright with going?”

“I think so,” she said. “It’ll be hard without you, but…”

“But you want to be with your friend,” he finished for her, trying his best to help.

“Exactly.”

“You can come too, Mr. Widogast!” Jester offered.

“No, no, I have work here. And Mollymauk just made plans with me for Monday after this week.”

Jester and Nott exchanged expressions that he couldn’t quite read. “Really? You have plans?” Nott asked, sounding both incredulous and hesitant.

“We’re going to a bookshop,” he replied firmly. “It’ll be a treat after all the cases we’ve been finishing.”

“I’m sure it’ll be a treat for Molly too! He likes… books,” Jester added, and they exchanged another glance before she straightened. “My act’s next, Nott, let’s say next week?”

“Yay! I’m excited!” She cheered.

“Great!” Jester wiggled her fingers in a goodbye, and flounced off to backstage.

“What was that look for?” Caleb asked Nott.

“What look?” Nott replied, and squeezed his hand again. “I’m glad you have a friend, Caleb. You’re too lonely.”

“I… think it’s too early to call us friends,” he replied, but he grinned anyways. “I’m glad you do too. These are good people.”

“Well, mostly good,” Nott amended for him, and they settled in to watch the rest of the show.  
  


* * *

Mollymauk draped himself over Yasha's lap on the women's couch, hand affixed to his forehead, professionally swooning. "Oh, love is so very rewarding," he said. 

"Uhhuh," Yasha dutifully replied, but she was still reading her magazine, just draping it over the couch's arm. 

"To think, I have a  _date_ with the man! A  _date_ some might call  _undateable!"_

Yasha sighed. "Why is he undateable."

"Have you seen him? He looks like a vagabond, and smells like one."

"Then... why do you want to date him?" 

"But he's so  _interesting_ and  _beautiful_ under all that tired, he's got these freckles under all of that filth I  _know_ it."

"Hm mm."

"And he's so  _serious_ and  _quiet_ and  _kind_ , you know how he is with Nott and Toya and Jester, he's so  _respectful_ of people, I just love that about him." He arched his back towards the ceiling, looking half-possessed. "And those  _lips_!"  
  
Yasha sighed, but merely pat the top of his head as he flopped back down.   
  
"But I must be crazy. I'm crazy to think this way, aren't I?"   
  
"Why do you think you're crazy this time, Molly." Her tone was completely deadpan.  
  
"Because he is so... not my usual style! But I want to know so much more about him, want to peel his coat away and see the man he is."  
  
"And you'll be doing this by... getting him naked? Naked people aren't always the most honest."  
  
"Au contraire, my friend, naked people are more honest than you'd think." He picked at his nails.   
  
"And you're the soul of honesty yourself."   
  
"Well, I wouldn't go that far." He grinned up at her. "But I think it'll be a good deal of fun dating him, don't you?"   
  
Yasha made a noise of discontent. "Well, I think that you better tell him you're not serious about it, or his feelings will be hurt."   
  
Molly scrambled up to stare at her. "I am serious about it! Or as serious as I can get! Serious as death!"

"Hm mm. And you're taking him out for a date despite his smells and looks for... himself? Or because he's different than your usual set of artists and drunks and philanderers?"   
  
Mollymauk grinned. "Can't it be both?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *and your parents  
> **butterflies  
> *** http://norman.hrc.utexas.edu/bookshopdoor/theshop.cfm#1 A look at a famous bookstore!


	5. Dream a Little Dream of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb sends Nott off with Jester, and gets ready for his big outing with Mollymauk. But will he realize what's happening beforehand?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL Sorry it took me 3 weeks of writing. I had a Bad Brain week and then busy weeks and tired weeks. And all the waffling I had to do. So much waffling. Anyways. Enjoy the new chapter, and I'll be done with the next one soonish.

Caleb had taken Nott down to the Grand Central station early in the morning, yawning and stretching and swearing at other drivers. Jester was waiting for them, looking just as tired, but gave them both a doughnut cheerfully. Mr. Traveler watched over her, his expression professionally blank, but with the tiniest hint of a smile at her exuberance.

Nott had hugged Caleb tightly, and Caleb held her back, his chin locked over her shoulder. “Call me every day, okay?” His voice cracked, and he was glad she couldn’t see him.

“I will,” Nott squeaked back, and pulled back to look him in the eye. “You take care of yourself, Caleb. Eat good food. Go to sleep on time.”

He laughed. “Yes, mother,” he replied, and kissed her on her forehead. “Go on, you’ll miss your train.”

“And be careful on your date with Mr. Tealeaf!” She scolded, before running off with Jester, waving behind her shoulder.

“It’s not a date!” He called back, and winced, as the sound carried, causing other people to look at him carefully. He buried the lower face of his face under his scarf, and nearly ran out of the station with embarrassment.

It wasn’t a date, not at all. Caleb was sure of it. He was being friendly! Friends did things like this all the time! Or he guessed, at least. Nott and Caleb were friends, and they did things together. Mostly it was go to the club, and go out for quick hotdogs, but those were outings! Mollymauk wanted him as a friend. Perhaps? But why?

Caleb drove himself back to the apartment, yawning but shaking himself awake. When he made it back to his place, Frumpkin chirped at him, looking suspiciously past him. “No, no, Nott is gone for a few days, she’ll be back in a week,” he replied.

 Frumpkin meowed at him.

“I know, I understand, but she’ll be back. She hasn’t left us.” He yawned, removed his shoes and coat, and slid under the still unmade bedsheets, and patted the bedding. “ _Komm her_.”

Frumpkin sat down, and stared at him.

“Frumpkin, come here.”

The fluffy ginger cat licked a paw thoughtfully, and then put it down to stare at him again.

“Alright,” Caleb replied, and curled tighter. “Your choice.”

Just as he was drifting off, he felt a gentle pounce near his knee, and a small warm weight curl in tight into the back of his leg, and he smiled.

When he woke up again, his face was mashed against Frumpkin’s stomach, the cat stretched over his pillow and in the small patch of sunlight from the window like he owned the place. Caleb spat out hair, shifted away, and patted Frumpkin when he made a small _mrrrt_ and curled into the space Caleb just vacated.

Caleb smiled at the animal, and tentatively petted him, trying not to wake him up. He needn’t have bothered—Frumpkin was quite happy sleeping. The human rolled out of the bed to avoid jostling him further, and landed on his feet with a stumble. Now that he was more rested, he felt anxiety and excitement twine around each other in his stomach. He was definitely excited for the outing, but with it came more worries: would he be good enough, why did Mollymauk want to go to the bookstore with him, what was expected of him. He settled on doing work instead of pacing, but every time the phone rang he jumped. And Nott wasn’t there to tease him or remind him to calm down—her absence echoed throughout the apartment.

Finally, it was nearly an hour before their agreed meeting time. Caleb drove there quickly, finding the bookstore, and circled the block a few times before parking nearby. He was still fifteen minutes early, so he waited in his car for another ten and then stepped outside to wait for the other man. He was still terribly nervous when Mollymauk strolled up, wearing a long many-colored jacket, his hair slicked back, and a cane. “Well well well,” he said as he approached, a smirk already on his face. “Glad to see you show up! I knew getting you to a bookshop would be the way to go.” He grinned, and looked over him. In the daylight, Mollymauk was vibrant, almost eye-blindingly so, dazzling in every way. On the other hand, Caleb realized that perhaps he should have washed some of his nicer clothes for the outing.

“Way to go what?” He asked, his tongue feeling dumb, worse than usual.

“Way to get you out of the club, out of doing work, out to have some fun.” He smirked, and Caleb’s heart flipped.

“Come on,” Mollymauk said, and opened the door, gesturing grandly. “After you, Caleb.”

“Thank you, Mollymauk,” he replied stiffly, though tried on a smile, and entered the bookshop. Walls and aisles and stacks of books greeted him, and he found himself sighing in relaxation at the sounds of light chatter and the smell of new and old books. Once inside, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

 

Mollymauk was a luxuriating man, who knew what he liked and knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was Caleb. When the other man stood just in the entrance and breathed in the smells of old books, Molly smiled, feeling his heart glow at the simple pleasure on Caleb’s face. Caleb opened his eyes and blinked before starting to see Molly staring at him. “Yes?” Caleb asked tersely.

“Nothing. I’m just looking at you,” he replied. “Have you been here before?”

“No, never,” he replied.

“Ah, good, I can show you my favorite parts.” He linked his elbow in with Caleb’s, testing out for any hesitation, and when there was a moment of it, he looked up to his blue eyes. “Is this okay?”

Caleb took a deep breath and nodded. “ _Ja_ , this is good.”

Molly nodded decisively. “Wonderful. Come along then!”

In the back of the store, where the aisles seemed to open, there was a table, and surrounding that table were some of the movers and shakers of New York City. Some of them looked up to Molly and raised heads and hands in greeting, while others looked at Caleb and their linked arms.

“These are some of the best artists, writers, and actors in the city,” he told Caleb, whispering in his ear. “They’re some of the best and worst people I know.”

Molly greeted them with a cheer, and stood, holding a bit of conversation, while Caleb slid out of his grasp and headed for the bookshelves. Molly frowned, but continued to chat, before he politely saluted the group and found Caleb, halfway across the store, his head buried in a book. He seemed not to notice him, so he just stared at the investigator, feeling his heart leap in different and exciting ways. He was definitely attracted to the man. His curly red hair, his piercing blue eyes and those long lashes flickering as he read a few lines of the book. Or perhaps it was more than a few lines? He turned a page, already blind to the world, and Mollymauk smiled. He was a quick reader, it seemed.

Mollymauk could have stared at him all day, but he felt it was probably unseemly to do so—not that he cared, of course, but he wanted Caleb to like him. You played nice with the people you wanted to like you back. At least a little bit, he thought as he crept closer and clapped a hand on his shoulder. Caleb gasped, and elbowed him _hard_ in the sternum, looking at him with utter shock and then just contempt. “You scared me.” He spoke loudly, looking more rattled than normal.

“I did, but it was worth it,” Molly said with a grin. “Your expression was just priceless.”

“Please do not do that again,” he said, still glaring at him.

“Ah, well, since you asked so nicely,” he replied, but now was curiously looking at him. “Jumpy, aren’t you?”

“Jumpy is a good way to survive,” he pointed out, running a hand through his hair, tousling it even more.

“Oh very true. Especially in our great city,” Molly replied. “Once I was mugged by a band of dwarves on unicycles. That’s where I got so many of my scars.”

Caleb snorted, and softly closed the book and reshelved it. “Liar.”

“It’s true! After they beat me up they had pity on me and tried to bring me in their gang, but I couldn’t stay on a unicycle. And how would that look, a purple Tiefling on foot following a bunch of dwarves on unicycles?”

“It would look pretty ridiculous.”

“Exactly. What was wrong with that book?”

Caleb looked back at the novel, and showed him the cover. _The Secret of Chimneys_ by Agatha Christie. “Nothing was wrong, I just can’t afford it now.”

Molly plucked it from his hands. “Well I certainly can.” He folded it under his arm and smiled. “My treat.”

“I can’t accept—”

“You can and you will.” Molly nodded. “You want it, and I can buy it. The money doesn’t matter to me, but the book matters to you, and you should have it.”

Caleb blinked at him, a slow flush crawling up. “You’re sure?”

“Very sure. Any other books you’re interested in? How have you been reading this whole time?”

“The library,” Caleb confessed quietly. “A few smaller bookshops, less expensive ones.”

“Ah. The library. Good place for books, and for sleeping when you don’t have a better place to go.”

Caleb stared at him quietly before nodding. “Very much so.”

He had absolutely meant that as a lead-in for some of the wild parties he had attended, and others that he had stories of, but there was something deep and sad about Caleb then. Something told him not to push, but when had he ever listened to anyone else?

“I’m guessing you went to some fabulous parties and had to sleep off a hangover, right?”

“No,” Caleb replied softly. “When I arrived in New York, I didn’t have anyone else here. And didn’t know where to go, or how to find an apartment. So, I slept where I could.”

“Oh fuck,” Molly said, and Caleb’s eyes flashed up to his in surprise. “I never thought about how it would be, not having a basic grasp of the city beforehand.”

“I mean, I knew some things,” Caleb said. “I could read a little English by then.”

Molly rubbed his face, looking at the man in a new light. “I’m impressed you’ve made it this far,” he replied. “Especially after the war.”

Caleb’s mouth turned down, and he turned away from him, facing the bookshelves again. “Not many people want to work with a German investigator,” he said. “I’m surprised Gustav did.”

“Gustav has away with finding and helping people who need it most. Gathers in lost souls and props them up, gives them a place to be safe if they need.” Molly followed Caleb’s sidestep as he continued to look for books. “And you were available and willing to listen without going to the cops which is a damned valuable asset.”

In profile, Caleb smiled. “Not being a snitch is a valuable asset. And I’m sure you didn’t receive a lovely bouquet while entering the city the first time either, with your accent.”

“Ah, that. I blend in more than you’d think. Or at least I sound like I blend in, until you look at me.” He gestured to his outfit and grinned.

Caleb smiled back at him, and then turned again to look for books. For the most part, the silence was companionable. The soft conversation from the artists weaved in and out of the bookshelves, but Caleb didn’t seem bothered, instead caressing those long fingers over the spines of books. Molly tried not to stare, tried to look invested in any of the other books, but he mostly watched Caleb surreptitiously.

 

Caleb cleared his throat, watching Mollymauk watch him. The butterflies in his stomach demanded to look at him, even though he was almost too beautiful to look at, and every time he did, they merely fluttered more.

He held out a copy of _The Picture of Dorian Gray,_ still white with how non-thumbed it was, still new. “This is one of my favorites,” he said. “Have you read it before?”

Molly glanced over it, but shook his head. “Not much of a reader, I’m afraid. Tell me about it?”

Who hadn’t heard of Oscar Wilde? Wasn’t he an infamous writer from Ireland? Wouldn’t Mollymauk have heard of—but it didn’t matter, he was sure. “It’s a story about a man falling in love with his own image, and never aging.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Mollymauk teased. “To be forever young would be wonderful.”

“But his image is captured in a painting, and it drives him mad,” he countered.

“Oh, not so fun then.”

“Not so much. But beautiful.” And the men were in love, he thought, and shelved the book back fastidiously. “Do you not like to read?”

“Not enough time,” he replied. “Between music and dancing, I never quite have the patience to sit and read.”

Caleb nodded—Mollymauk had the energy of a dancer, and he did not seem like the type to want to sit still.

He couldn’t truly concentrate, not with Molly staring at him, not with the thoughts racing through his head. He cleared his throat again and turned to him. “I am ready to go.”

“Just one book? You’ll go through this in a week!” Mollymauk pulled out the book from under his arm and examined it.

He glanced at it. “It’ll be closer to two days, I don’t have a lot of work at the moment.”

Mollymauk frowned, before chuckling. “Two days. Well, if it’s what you want. I’m still willing to pay for another book?”

“No, this is fine. And I can pay for my own book.”

“Not if I pay for it first,” he said, and raced to the counter.

Caleb tried to catch him, but he was too quick, charming the woman working with a smile, and completely ignoring Caleb’s attempts to derail him. Finally, he gave up, and Mollymauk slid over the money and handed the book to him. “It’s a gift, now,” he said. “No deals or debts or owing anything.”

He glared, at first, holding the book close to him, and then sighed, softening. “You… thank you, Mollymauk.” Warmth glowed over him.

“You’re welcome.” He bowed. “Anything for my favorite detective.”

Caleb merely smiled, and shook his head. “You haven’t read any Agatha Christie novels, then.”

“Well, no, but you’re still very much my favorite.”

Once out the door, Caleb turned to Mollymauk. “You mentioned dinner, when you asked me to join you, yes?”

“I did indeed! But we’ll have to walk a bit.”

“I do have my car,” he offered, and Mollymauk gleamed.

“Wonderful! Then we’ll take that.”

Caleb had regretted it the moment he said it—being in close quarters with Mollymauk would only lead to bad things, to unleashed words and confessions he wasn’t willing to impart—but as it turned out, Mollymauk only had a vague idea of how to get there from Greenwich. Usually, being lost like this caused Caleb’s heart to race and ache, but Mollymauk distracted him from his aching awkwardness with quips about the dresses other people wore, and the little dogs some had in their arms, and how awfully gaudy some of their outfits were—and how much he wanted them. Caleb had laughed at that, teasing, “You like the bright and loud colors, ja?” 

“Oh, it’s a fabulous way to get people to ignore you. Or distract them from someone like you, Caleb. Say, I could probably be a peacock if you needed to hide, or trail someone. I’m very good at distracting.” He looked at Caleb, and Caleb looked back to see him winking broadly, and licking his lips. 

Caleb jerked back to watch the road, flushed. _He doesn’t mean it._

Once they had parked at a nice apartment building with a covered entrance, Caleb turned to Mollymauk in confusion, but he just grinned, winked at him, and said, “Here we are!”

Mollymauk strode into the building with all the confidence of a long-time guest, and Caleb followed—only to see a very nicely laid out lobby. The doorman nodded to him, but eyed Caleb suspiciously. “Oh, he’s with me, George,” the Tiefling said, and the doorman’s gaze returned to the polite professionally cheerful look.

“Alright, Mr. Tealeaf.”

Caleb rushed closer to Mollymauk as he entered a luxurious elevator. “Where are we?”

“In my apartment building,” he replied as the doors closed, and they gained smooth altitude. “I have the penthouse. You’ll love the view.”

Caleb’s heart pounded. “Are you serious? You’re not shitting me?”

“Now, now, do you ever really believe in a bullshitter like me?” He gave him a crooked grin as the doors opened, to a locked door. Mollymauk unlocked it and pocketed the key. “But in this case, yes, I do rent this apartment.” He bowed, pointing out his foot and bowing with a flourish. “And now, good sir, our dinner awaits.”

The apartment was the most lavish and colorful place he had been in in a while. Caleb stood still, gawking at the fine rugs, flowing carpets, and just-out-of-a-catalog-quality couch. Everything was covered in silks and blankets and hanging lanterns, dotting the ceiling. There were tapestries and mirrors on the wall, reflecting the wild and over-the-top exuberance of the room. This couldn’t be real. Places like this belonged in a painting in a museum, not a real-life place he could actually visit. _Was_ visiting. Was in fact inside, having taken two steps into the apartment, the almost drab by comparison elevator gone behind him, closing with a soft whish of air. He was _inside the apartment._ And it was _Mollymauk’s?_

“This… this is yours?” Caleb turned to him, and damn, the fucker looked amused, grinning hugely.

“This is mine, all mine,” he said. “Come in closer, let me close the door. And take off your coat.”

“But,” Caleb acquiesced, taking a step forward, peeling off his coat and hanging it on a precariously perched but bright violet coatrack. His mind stalled on the prospect. “But. This can’t be real. This can’t be the same New York.”

“Well, no,” Molly replied. “Same city, but different worlds, handsome. Now, do you drink red or white? I usually drink white, but red will go well with the steak.”

“Steak?” His voice was weak. But yes, there was a smell of cooked meat, of _steak_ , and something like garlic and onions and Caleb might be in love. But of course Mollymauk didn’t, this wasn’t a _date_ , because if it were a date he would have tried to kiss him, or hold hands. His mouth watered as he sniffed the air once again.

“Steak. And a good salad, I’d bet,” Mollymauk said as he left him alone, ducking into another room. Caleb followed him, half curiously and half afraid that he’d be lost. “I ordered it for about now, they were damn on time with it.”

“W-what?” The kitchen was damned immaculate, full of white gleaming marble. The sinks were clean, and where Mollymauk was rustling in his cabinets, he could tell they were stocked to the brim.

“The cooks downstairs. Room service, it’s convenient. I didn’t know how long we’d be at the bookstore,” he said, bending over two silver covered dishes. He exposed one and revealed a steak, perfectly brown and laying on a bed of green lettuce. Caleb’s heart hurt. When was the last time he had a vegetable that wasn’t half-wilted? “Hmm, perfect. Come on then, help me out and bring it to the table?” Mollymauk took one platter, and left the kitchen. Caleb scrambled to obey and follow and found himself in a dining room that was as beautiful as the rest of the apartment. Mollymauk placed the platter on the table, and pointed to Caleb. “Sit. Let me get you the rest of the dinner.”

“O-okay,” he replied, and obediently sat down at the dark wood table that didn’t wobble (he checked) and on a dark wood chair (he also checked). His jaw started to shake, and he clamped shut on that. He was _not_ going to have a panic attack at this wild, overwhelming room. He was fine. It was food. It was an apartment. Mollymauk paid rent. Probably more money than Caleb would ever own in his life, than his parents had ever owned, but he was going to be okay.

Mollymauk returned with a large bowl full of green leaves and bread on a platter. “Please, help yourself,” he said. “Oh, shit, wait, knives and forks.” He rushed back and forth, preparing everything, and finally finished by putting a small candle on the table beside the vase full of bright yellow daisies and lighting it. He sighed, having completed, and finally, finally sat down. He popped open the cork on a green bottle, the smell of white wine filling the room, tickling his nose. He poured the glasses and held one to Caleb. “For a toast—” Caleb grinned, locking eyes with Mollymauk. In turn, Mollymauk’s eyes stayed glued to his. “For a wonderful day and an even better night, with good food and good company.”

They stared at each other before drawing their heads back to drink at the wine. Mollymauk winked and rubbed his hands. “Now then. Let’s dig in!”

The steak was wonderful, and Caleb nearly moaned as he brought the meat to his mouth and finally tasted, chewed. It was perfectly cooked, and he couldn’t help but hum appreciatively. Across from him, Mollymauk made a hint of a chuckle, and he looked up to see the Tiefling smirk. “Good?”

“Very good. I haven’t had steak in a long time.”

He grinned, and leaned back in his chair. “That just means I’ll have to take you out more.”

“No, no, I couldn’t do that, this…” Everything felt rushed as he tried to explain. “I really should pay you back for this, this is too good, and good meat is expensive.”

“But I’m treating you,” he said, slowly. “You are not obligated to do anything back.”

“But—”

“And if you do, then I’ll just have to think of new ways to put good food in your belly. You’re-- well, look at you.”

Caleb looked down at himself. He had cleaned up well, he thought. He had worn a clean white shirt and a good tie, but he didn’t look so bad when he straightened up. He did so now, trying to subtly shift his image. “I’m doing alright.”

“You’re puncturing my seat cushion with your bones,” he replied. “Please, eat more. The chefs do this amazing dressing on the salad that goes well with the bacon.”

Caleb’s heart sank as he looked at the beautiful bowl full of good, healthy salad, with crumbles of bacon laying on top of the leaves. “No thank you.”

“No? Please, gods, get something good in you. When was the last time you had a salad so beautiful?”

“Not in a while, but I can’t have bacon.”

“Can’t have—” Mollymauk stared at him, perplexed.

“I can’t have bacon,” he repeated. “I’m Jewish—no pork allowed.”

“Oh shit,” Mollymauk said. “I didn’t even think about whether or not you could have anything.” He looked over the meal again. “Is everything else okay though? You can have the steak, the bread?”

“Yes,” he said, half smiling. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Now, then, let me see about getting us a new salad—”

“No, no, please, it’s quite alright, I’ll just have the steak, it’s quite fine. It’s better than fine, it’s…” he closed his eyes, trying to search for the word. “Blissful.”

Mollymauk was silent at this, and when the silence became noticeable, he opened his eyes again to see him staring at him, openmouthed. “What?”

He grinned, and shook his head. “Nothing, I was thinking of something else we could do later. Something more fun.”

“More fun than bookstores?” Caleb asked, half-smiling.

“Much more fun,” he said. “But we’ll save that for after the wine.”

Caleb remembered the wine suddenly and drank from his glass, the cool, sweet wine hitting a note in him that he hadn’t even realized could be hit. He found himself feeling relaxed, and feeling… good. Natural.

“So, I was wondering, you like the jazz alright, right?”

“ _Ja_ , but I like the people there more.”

“Right, that was obvious. And hanging around my crew, for you and Nott, which is great! Fabulous! But I was wondering, what do you like to listen to? Music-wise.”

He chewed for a moment before answering. “You know, I personally like orchestral music.”

“Orchestra!” Mollymauk snorted. “Of course you would.”

“It’s calming! And beautiful. I love finding it on the radio.”

“Nothing you can dance to, though.”

“Just a different dance—waltz rather than that shimmy thing you did last Tuesday.”

“It’s very popular with our clientele.” Mollymauk retorted, but he was grinning, making Caleb feel very let in on the joke, accepted. Warmth bloomed in his chest, and he was surprised to find that this was not the first time he had noticed it this evening.

“You’re very popular with the clientele,” he said. “Many people like you.”

“And you, Caleb? Do you like me?” He leaned back, holding his wine, looking half-bored, which puzzled Caleb.

“Of course, Mollymauk. I like you.”

“Good! Then we’ll have a lovely time tonight.” The smile was back on, and Caleb pondered it, but before that, Mollymauk was tearing into the bread and offering him the first piece. “Do you have good bread in Germany?”

“ _Ja_ , the best bread you can imagine. Thick, brown bread, keep you full for half the day.”

“I’ve never been to Germany,” he said, leaning back. “I’ve heard horror stories about the food—sauerkraut and Limburger and everything.”

Caleb laughed. “I hate Limburger. I can barely eat that shit. But sauerkraut, when it’s done traditionally—” he moaned. “It’s delicious. I’ll have to bring you around some good delis and _Bäckereien.*”_

“I’d love to go,” he replied. “I’d like to know more about you, what your life is like.”

Caleb shook his head, his smile faded from his face. “It’s not terribly exciting. I came from Germany and moved here, became a detective. Not very lively, not like you.”

Mollymauk shrugged. “I’m not so terribly exciting either. I work, I come home, I go to a few parties…”

“You’re in the newspapers nearly every week. I look for you now, you’re quite popular, even if no one can say what you do without you going to jail.”

He smiled to himself, his tail swishing behind his chair. “Well. I do enjoy that.”

“And what about you, Mollymauk? What brought you to New York?”

“What everyone comes here for. The lights, the city, the chance at a new life.”

It was a very common reason to fleeing to the overcrowded and bustling city. “And did you find it?”

“More than I expected,” he said. “The club is my family, and I make people’s lives happier every time I step up to the stage. That’s more than a lot of people can say.”

Caleb smiled, and nodded, and they fell into silence for a moment or two, finishing their dinners respectively. Once done, Caleb placed the fork on the plate and sighed deeply with pleasure. “This is the best dinner I’ve had in a while. Thank you, Mollymauk.”

“You’re very welcome, Caleb Widogast. Now then. The second part of the evening—” he stood up, and picked up the bottle of wine and his glass. “Bring your glass, I wanna show you the city.”

Mollymauk led him out to a patio that was nearly the size of Caleb’s own apartment, with tasteful planters and a couple of wicker chairs in the corner, a small coffee table between them. He placed the wine down and returned into the apartment. Caleb stood in the chilly autumn air, confused, when suddenly sound blared. It took a moment or two to recognize music, singing, something slow and jazzy, something that Mollymauk might have sung, and there was the man himself, walking out of the apartment, smiling, his tail flicking behind him.

“Now then. Do you not agree the stars here are beautiful?”

Caleb looked up, admiring the stars for a moment, before feeling pulled back to look at Mollymauk, framed by the lights in the city and the moon. “They are.”

The song ended, and there was a moment of speaking from the radio, something Caleb couldn’t quite hear, but there was another cry from a trumpet, and the Tiefling beamed. “This is one of my favorite songs,” he said. “May I dance with you?” **

Caleb stared at the hand he held out, like a proper gentleman, and nodded. “You may,” he replied, and took the step closer to Mollymauk. They grasped hands, and Mollymauk slid his other hand against Caleb’s side, and they danced. He stumbled a bit, but he was getting it, and both of them were laughing and smiling at each other, before suddenly they were dancing much, much closer, nearly touching. Caleb could feel his heat from his torso, and the wine made everything feel much better, much looser, much more alive than he’d ever felt. Dancing was _good_ , why had he never done this before, and Mollymauk was _wonderful,_ and he felt _good._

Mollymauk smiled warmly, his eyes half-lidded, and asked, “May I kiss you, Caleb Widogast?”

And everything stopped with a crash.

“What?”

“I’d like to kiss you, if I may?” Now he looked uncertain, focused on Caleb’s face, and he wanted to be very hidden, very much not _here_.

“But, why?”

“Because I like you,” he said slowly, staring at Caleb. “I am flirting with you. I would like to kiss you after our date.”

“This was a date?” Shit shit shit _shit_. This was wrong, this was all wrong, this couldn’t be a date—he didn’t like you like that, you’re not anything to him, he’s pitying you, he’s _using_ you.

Caleb took a step back. “I don’t believe you. This… you don’t like me. Why would you like me?”

“Because you’re handsome and good and interesting. Do I need another reason?”

Caleb shook his head, his heart pounding. “You’re… no. I don’t know what you’re doing, but I don’t like this.”

Mollymauk stood still. “Don’t like what?”

“I… I don’t date people, I’m broken and plain and nothing like someone like you would want.”

“On the contrary, Caleb, I very much want you.”

“No, you don’t. I don’t know what you’re doing. Is this a game? Are you pitying me, or making fun of me?”

The other man looked stricken. “Is that what you think of me? You think I’d go so low as to do that?”

“It’s happened before—” Gods, was he crying? His voice pitched high. “Why not now?”

“Get out. Get out of my apartment.” Mollymauk pointed at the door, and Caleb, his heart breaking with the realization that it actually was true, that this was a terrible set up just to toy with him, fled the apartment.

 

Mollymauk threw the wineglass at the brick wall, and then the other, screeching with pain. This had not gone _anywhere_ near according to plan.

 

*Bakeries  
**Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong’s Dream a Little Dream of Me https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j6TmogXhOZ8


	6. Try a Little Tenderness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mollymauk and Caleb make themselves sick with bad spirals, which is fixed by open and honest communication!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My two methods of writing is apparently pick at the keyboard for 100 words per day, or drink too much tea and write 4000 words all at once at 2 am. I'm sorry.

 

Nott returned, grinning ear to ear, and bursting with stories about what she and Jester had done, and Caleb had smiled and nodded to his best ability. The joy at seeing her so happy and well overrode most of the funk he had fallen into after his disastrous ‘date’ with Mollymauk. The feeling was still there, though, and needling at the back of his mind as he listened. It must have shown, because while they were in the car driving home from the train station, Nott paused halfway through a story about seeing the beach and spending all their time building a sandcastle with pilfered goods, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, a bit too gruffly, and Nott narrowed her eyes.

“If nothing’s wrong, why do you sound like that? How was your date with Mollymauk?”

Caleb slammed the hard metal wheel with his hands, snapping, “Did _everyone_ know it was a date?”

Nott skittered to the other side of carseat, glaring at him nervously, and Caleb forced himself to take a deep, calming breath. “I’m sorry, Nott. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Her shoulders eased, just slightly. “What the fuck happened?”

“He was making some joke of it,” he said. “Someone like him is always joking, always lying about wanting someone like, well.” He looked down at himself, wearing the same coat and the same worn, frayed shirt he had worn for the date. “Someone like me.”

“Caleb. Mollymauk has mooned after you for _weeks_ , did you really not notice? He was always coming to talk to you during breaks and trying to get you to dance.”

“But he’s beautiful, and he must have more beautiful people to date—”

“I mean, sure, there’s someone who is always going to be more beautiful than you, but,” she shrugged. “But he wants you. He’s got good taste, even if he’s got bad fashion taste.”

He smiled at the insult fondly, and then frowned at himself. Not fondly, not ever. “He’s dating more beautiful or more rich or more interesting people all the time.”

“He hasn’t dated anyone else in a few weeks,” she said with authority, and Caleb looked at her in surprise. “Jester knows _all_ about it. Says that she heard him talk to Yasha about how much he liiiiiikes you,” she added with a singsong flair, and Caleb smiled, shaking his head.

“I still think you are wrong,” Caleb replied.

Nott was silent for a moment or two before nodding decisively to herself. “That’s what you think now.”

 

* * *

 

Mollymauk sat on the women’s changing room couch, his head on Yasha’s shoulder as she rubbed small circles on his back. He sniffed, just a bit, but Yasha had already brought out her handkerchief and pressed it into his hand.

“He thought it was a joke,” he reported dully. “He said I was dating him as a joke, and he slammed the door when he left.”

Yasha didn’t say anything, just rubbed his back soothingly.

“And then he left me. He thought I would do those things and didn’t even consider that I wouldn’t.”

“Did you tell him it wasn’t?”

“Yes, of course!”

“But did you tell him before or during the date?”

“Tell him what? ‘Oh, hey, this isn’t a joke’?”

Yasha sighed. “No, I suppose you couldn’t do that.”

Like a flurry of color and sound, Jester sprinted into the room, took one look at the two on the couch, and immediately stood still, panting a little. “Molly, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Molly buried his head in Yasha’s shoulder, groaning loudly, his heart twisted one more time as Yasha explained, “Caleb turned Molly down because he thought it was a joke date.”

“Molly! You didn’t take him on a _joke_ date, did you? That’s SO mean of you, I can’t believe you would _do_ that!”

“I _didn’t_ ,” Molly roared back. “I would _never_ do that.”

“But why would Caleb think that?” She put her hands on her waist, right above her poufy dancing skirt. “Did you tell him you like him, or something?”

“I asked him out for a bookstore run and dinner and to see the stars,” he explained slowly. How could she be so blind? “I’ve been on tons of dates, millions, just like that, and everyone’s understood that it was, you know, a romantic fling. Who goes to have dinner and a night under the stars as _friends?”_

“Maybe he does?” Jester said. “He’s very lonely, Nott says he hasn’t had any dates or friends or anyone besides her and us.”

“He is rather quiet and lonely,” Yasha added thoughtfully. “It might just be that he’s not used to it?”

Jester nodded, and leaned in, like there were anyone else to hear the secrets in the dressing room. “Nott said that the last time he tried to date, years before he met her, he was teased and told that he wasn’t good enough to date because he was German and probably a spy. And then they made fun of his clothes, said he was an awful spy, and then called his smile dumb.”

Yasha and Molly stared at her. “Nott told you all that?”

“Nott knows like, a _lot_ about Caleb. He doesn’t tell everything, but she figured out a lot, she’s a good detective.” Jester smiled, proud of her friend.

“Well that explains a lot of it,” Yasha replied, her quiet voice sad and thoughtful. “He’s got shit confidence.”

“But I was still laying the groundwork—flirting to the best of my ability, calling him handsome, having a hot cooked meal, but listen, Yasha, if I licked my lips at you like this—” he did the same maneuver as before, in the car ride, “you’d see it as a sexual thing, right?”

“Or, if I had the confidence of Caleb, I would think you were joking with me.”

“But I was _clear as day_.”

“Did you say to him, Caleb, my love, my dearest gem, my soul’s own song, I would like to kiss you upon the mouth?” Jester asked, swooning. “I read that in _Tusk Love_.”

“Yes! Well not exactly, but yes, I asked!” He was standing now, shouting, wildly confused and very very defensive. It wasn’t like he was a _savage,_ going around kissing people who didn’t want it!

“Did you tell him it was a date?” Yasha asked quietly. “Did you tell him you were interested in him, romantically?”

Mollymauk froze. “No, but—”

“So he has a shit confidence,” Jester supplied. “And then he must have thought that you were taking him out as a friend, and then mocking him—”

“But I would never _do_ that!”

“We know,” Yasha said. “We know you, and we know you’re, well, you’re not honest, but you’re honest enough—but Caleb doesn’t know that.”

Everything made a horrible amount of sense, right then. Caleb, being mocked and his confidence in dating torn by other men, making his self worth the size of a louse. Molly, never once telling Caleb that yes, he was interested in him, in a romantic sense, because he didn’t think he’d have to spell it out, but Caleb, poor Caleb, he was so wrapped in his own thoughts he didn’t know what flirting, good flirting, really was, and that he was nice and funny in a deadpan way and kind and intelligent and sharp as a knife and that Molly liked that.

Caleb was special, and interesting, and he wanted to get to know him better, wanted to tease out those small smiles, the ones that made Molly’s heart feel full. But Caleb had no idea that he thought it, because he had never said it.

“Holy shit,” Mollymauk said. “I’ve made a _huge_ mistake.”

 

* * *

 

Nott faked having a sour stomach. It was not the first time—she loved Caleb, she loved her boy, but sometimes she needed some alone time, and Caleb was too polite to drag her along anyways. Once or twice, she just did it to get away from being _the goblin_ or _the assistant_ , maybe disguise herself as a halfling and go for a nice lunch, perhaps mail a package down to Louisiana full of the shinies she’s collected. But today, once Caleb had gone and she had watched his rusty car drive off down his usual path, she immediately dialed Jester’s phone number. She hadn’t seen her friend in a _week_. Caleb had pointedly denied any attempt to go to the club, but offered to pick her up after. “I’ll stay in the car and read,” he had said, and Nott groaned.

Her groggy voice answered, and Nott realized that nighttime performers usually don’t respond well to 10 in the morning phone calls. “Hello?”

“Jester, it’s me, Nott, your friend.”

Jester talked through her yawn. “Oh hiiiiiii Nott—oh sorry, good morning! Is it still morning? Why are you calling me in the morning?”

“I heard all about Caleb and Molly’s date,” she said. “And I think Caleb needs to talk with him to get it sorted out.”

“Oh!” Jester’s voice sounded chipper, almost immediately waking up to hear. “You’re right, and Molly needs to apologize very hard to Caleb.”

“Well, you’re not wrong, but I think Caleb needs to understand and apologize too.” She loved her boy, but any good mother recognized when her child was being a dumbass.

“But I haven’t seen you or Caleb in a week—he’s probably avoiding the club, right?”

“He doesn’t want to get his heart hurt again,” she said, “and Molly probably hasn’t been eager to talk to him either?”

“No, no, he is, but he’s, well, he’s planning a lot of big parades and flowers and musical accompaniments to talk to Caleb.”

Nott considered Caleb, being presented with parades and bouquets and music flooding him, and could already see how this was going to be a _very_ bad plan. “Caleb will flee to Jersey if Molly tries that shit.”

“We can’t let that happen!” Jester cried.

“We can’t. I like this city. And I like you, Jester!”

“Aww, I like you too, Nott! My friend!”

Nott grinned, but of course Jester couldn’t see the grin—but oh well. “Well, I have a plan, and I need your help on this.”

 

* * *

 

“Nott, stop dragging me,” Caleb insisted for the fourth time. “My arm will be stretched an inch longer if you keep it up.”

“Then hurry up!” Nott snapped. “Come on, get a move on! We don’t have all day!”

It was a Saturday afternoon, and things were bustling around them in Manhattan, around the neighborhood known as Little Italy*. It was a busy area in all hours of the day, and especially at night, as people tried desparately to get out of their stifling tenement apartments and into _anywhere else_ , even if it was just lounging with friends on stoops. Caleb and Nott had had a few investigations here, and normally Caleb would have liked to slow down, nod to the people he passed, but Nott was clutching his fingers and pulling him like a string toy.

“Nott, would you please tell me what is going on?”

“I’ll explain it all in a minute, I _promise_.”

They made it to a small restaurant called Lombardi’s, and Nott peered in tentatively before looking around the shopfront as well, and before Caleb could get out a “What are you doing—” she shoved him inside. “Table for two!” She screeched at the man waiting for customers. The restaurant was half full of people, all looking at Nott and Caleb now.

The waiter looked befuddled, looking between the two, but Nott cleared her throat. “I would like a table, for two, please,” she said, slightly more politely. “Somewhere quiet?”

“A-alright,” he agreed, and still giving them a curious glance, pointed them to a small white clothed table in the corner, a bread basket on top. Nott slipped into the chair with the greater view of the room, and Caleb sat across from her, still curious and perplexed about the hurry to get a table. “Here are your menus,” the waiter murmured, and as Caleb took his, he noticed Nott doing something complicated with her hands, and the waiter’s look of surprise before he slipped away into the back.

Nott was clearly agitated, looking behind Caleb and arching her neck to try to see. Caleb was nervous now, and tried to see what she was looking at, but as soon as he turned to look she said loudly, “Oh Caleb, what do you want to eat, I’m starving, do you think they have any good pasta here?”

This was a contentious topic, as everyone in the restaurant turned to look at her. Caleb hunched over, whispering, “They must, these are Italians, _ja_?”**

“Oh, I guess you’re right!” She squeaked, and gave a shaky grin before scanning her menu. Caleb looked over his own, wondering which meal he should order, hoping that the people staring at him would stop, when Nott chirped again, “ _I gotta pee!”_ and dashed off.

Before Caleb could react, she sprinted off in the wrong direction. As he turned to yell this at her, his vision was blocked by a purple Tiefling wearing a terribly gaudy coat, holding a modest bouquet of purple hyacinths.

Caleb’s heart pounded as he looked up to see Mollymauk’s face, looking oddly somber. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. Did Nott not tell you I was coming?”

“She did not,” Caleb replied, and folded his hands in his lap. This was the worst possible outcome, of anything, how could she do this to him. ( _Does she hate me_?) Tears were already pricking at the corner of his eyes, but he would not let them fall. “I’m sorry, there’s been a mistake,” he said, trying to leave, but Mollymauk put a hand on his wrist before pulling back as if he was shocked _(he must really hate me he can barely stand to touch me)_.

“Please. Stay. I have a lot of things I’d like to apologize for.”

Caleb looked up at Mollymauk’s handsome, so handsome face, and latched onto his eyes, those red eyes looking sincere, chastened, and somber.

A beat passed, and his heart was full of hurt, but—Mollymauk looked sincere. He looked away from his eyes again, and nodded silently.

The other man sank into Nott’s vacated chair, laying the flowers down onto the table. “So what’s the food like here, good?” He asked, and Caleb’s gaze lurched up to his own, and he winced when Caleb froze. “Sorry. That was probably not the best thing to say first off.” He sighed deeply. “I just wanted to say—before anything else—is that I’m sorry, Caleb Widogast. PI,” he added, smiling gently before his expression turned serious again, and wasn’t that an odd expression for his face. “I wanted to apologize for not telling you beforehand what I was wanting out of the date—”

“Was it a date, then?” Caleb asked quietly.

“It was. And Jester said Nott said that—” he paused. “Well, that things had happened like that before, people taking you out on joke dates, and that’s just a damn shameful thing they’ve done, because you’re too important to do that to.”

“Jester said Nott said I had been taken out on joke dates?”

Mollymauk nodded. “Is that right?”

Caleb took a deep breath. “Yes, but—it was a miscommunication, mostly, and I didn’t really, didn’t know that that’s how things were done here. Didn’t know dating was for fun here, and not serious at all.”

“Well, not—I don’t see a point in being serious during a date, and not having fun—” The air in Caleb’s lungs whooshed out of him, making him feel sad and deflated and gray. “But not for _jokes_ , I don’t take people out to make fun of them.”

Hope. He took a small breath and asked gently, “So it was a real date, then, _ja_?”

“It was a real date,” Mollymauk confirmed, and Caleb felt something shift in him, felt the rope around his heart and lungs and chest loosen. “It was a real date, for the purpose getting to know you better and hopefully kissing you after it, maybe during, maybe more, but I would have checked with you before any barneymugging***.”

“Barney--” Caleb started, and then his cheeks turned warm. “You wanted to have sexual intercourse with me?”

Mollymauk snorted, and that tightness threatened Caleb again before he laughed, openly, his shoulders wide. “You’re real honest, aren’t you? Yes. I wanted to have sexual intercourse with you. And I’d still like to, but I feel like we would need to have more discussions before that.” He took a deep breath and handed the flowers to Caleb. “These are for you. Jester stopped me from buying a bigger one and also decorating your apartment with them, but if that’s what it takes for you to forgive me, just tell me now.”

The flowers were lovely, but Caleb had little time to look at them. “You still want to date me? And have sexual intercourse with me?”

“Yes, Caleb Widogast,” he said, looking Caleb square in the eye. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this before our first date; I should have told you that I like you, and would like to date you in a romantic sense, and get to know you better. I would like to have fun with you on these dates, and maybe not be so church serious like you are, so there will be fun—I mean, if you’d like to have fun with me.” He grinned. “Not just sex, but going out and doing things. Like real couples do.”

Caleb held the flower stems in his hands, flexing his fingers over them and feeling their firm smoothness as he thought.  
  
“Why?” Caleb shook his head, bewildered by everything. “I’m nothing like the people you usually take on dates.”

“You’re nothing like them, because you’re real,” Mollymauk replied. “You’re honest about who you are. You’re _you_ , you’re not playing at someone better or brighter or funnier or smoother. You’re smart and kind, and you’ve got a sharp sense of humor, and when you smile—” he sighed, and smiled a small warm smile to him. “When you smile it’s the like the sun has come out after a long, long winter.”

Fuck. ( _Fuck.)_ If that didn’t hit something in his heart, he’d be a liar. He cleared his throat. “Are you sure? You’re not lying?”

“No—not about this. Never about this,” Mollymauk said, and he sounded, seemed, looked completely honest. “I would like to date you, Caleb Widogast, Private Eye.”

He took a deep breath, fighting the tremors already climbing up his hands, the flower petals shaking minutely as he tried to calm himself down. “I would like that too, Mollymauk Tealeaf,” he said, slowly, picking out every word. “But I have some apologies as well. I did not believe you when you said you liked me, and I thought you were lying to me, and I reacted poorly rather than learning the truth.” He gulped. “It was stupid and careless of me, and I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. We both reacted in anger, and it suited neither of us.” Caleb’s eyes darted up to Mollymauk’s face, and he was smiling kindly, not patronizingly. “You’re forgiven.”

“And you, also are forgiven.” He paused, and smiled back, and Mollymauk’s smile turned into a grin.

“Now then. What a relief—I couldn’t handle if someone so beautiful was mad at me—and yes, I mean it, Caleb. But, we’re here, at a wonderful restaurant, and I see Nott and Jester watching us raptly, so I think that their plan worked.”

Caleb twisted in his chair to see Jester and Nott near the window, huddling and staring at them, but suddenly both of them fell into obviously fake conversations as they were caught at their game. Caleb frowned, turning back to face Mollymauk. “Did it really require a plan?”

“From what it sounded like, you were never going to come back—which is understandable—and I wanted to lead a parade to your apartment to apologize.”

Caleb paled. “Please, never do that.”

“Jester told me Nott said you’d say that. I still think you’re wrong, nothing can’t be fixed with a parade.”

“I would sprint halfway to Jersey,” he said in the deadpan, and Mollymauk chuckled.

“Jester said Nott said you’d do that too. They’ve been talking a lot, those two.”

They both turned to look at the friends, who were now looking at them again, and waved. Caleb turned to see Mollymauk waving at them, winking, and the sudden terror came up again ( _this is a set up he’s going to laugh at me_ ) and then left when he turned to Caleb. “Well? Do you want to eat lunch here? They do have divine linguini with clams here.”

“Ah—” Caleb looked at the forgotten menu, and looked through it again, this time feeling less befuddled and more… well, not confused, but feeling as though he had stepped into new and foreign territory. He scanned the menu, furrowed his brow, and looked up at the worldly, experienced Mollymauk, and asked, “What’s a pizza?****”

 

* * *

 

  
“It’s flat bread with tomatoes and basil and cheese—it’s amazing, you should try it. Actually, let’s split one, I’ll show you.” Mollymauk grinned widely. “It’s my treat. And this, Caleb Widogast? This is a date, now. If you’d like, of course.”

Caleb flushed once more—he had done that on and off throughout their discussion—and considered it for a moment before nodding. “I would like that, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

“Please. Call me Molly.”

Caleb’s mouth twitched up to the tiniest of smiles. “Molly, then.”

“Caleb,” he replied, smiling.

The waiter came, still looking confused, but took their orders and left, and Molly watched him as he went to speak with Nott and Jester. Their voices rose as they explained the situation—“our friends needed to speak” and “I’ll pay for the meal—” and Molly made a note to leave a good tip for the man, as well as an insistence to pay for Nott and Jester as well.

But now, their table was silent for a few minutes, Caleb studiously looking at the flowers, Molly looking at the people around them, wondering what to say next. He had just noticed a family outside the window, and meant to ask him about his family, when Caleb cleared his throat. “Thank you for the flowers, Molly. They’re beautiful.”

“You’re welcome! I’ve got a good eye for these things. The girl at the shop told me that hyacinths are meant to convey forgiveness, and well—I wanted you to forgive me.”

Caleb nodded slowly. “Hyacinths? I’ve read about them but I don’t think I’ve ever put a name to their flower before,” he said, poking at the flowers. “They have a very strong smell.”

“They do,” he said, and sniffed appreciatively. “I love flowers. Have I ever showed you my tattoos?”

“You have tattoos?”

Mollymauk nodded, and stood to slither out of his jacket, revealing a plain white crisp shirt underneath. He unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled the sleeve up to his elbow, revealing the snakehead on the back of his hand, and the snake’s body wrapping around his forearm, surrounded by roses and forgetmenots.

Caleb looked amazed, or taken aback, he wasn’t quite sure. Ah—maybe he just didn’t like ink? Before Mollymauk could properly despair that this would never work out, Caleb leaned in closer. “It’s beautiful artwork.”

He preened with the praise. “I know. I think it suits me. And the patrons, they love a man with ink, they see me and think I’m wildly exotic.” He rolled down his sleeve, trying to tamp down his own vanity. “But it’s all the business, you know? They’ll be tired of me soon enough, I just gotta find new things to throw at them, make it _exciting_.”

“Are the patrons so quick to turn?” Caleb asked. “They seemed to love you.”

“Yes, they do now, but in a year? I’ll be old news. But right now the getting is good.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll move. Take Yasha and me up to Paris. I think we’d do well, don’t you?”

Caleb shook his head. “I wouldn’t know, but—did you not want to date me, then?”

Oh shit. “No, no, sorry, I meant. Maybe I’ll move eventually. In a year? Or maybe I’ll stay here, find a new job.” He flashed a grin at Caleb. “Maybe I’ll help you solve cases and crimes.”

Caleb half-snorted. “Well, you’re very good at blending in, obviously.”

“I can’t help that I’m so beautiful,” he retorted. “But seriously, if you ever need a man to draw attention, I’m your guy. I could absolutely cause a scene if you needed one.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he said, half-smiling again, and _fuck_ it pulled at his heart in the razor sharp sweetest of ways. “I actually might take you up on it one day—if you would like, Mollym- er, Molly.”

“I’d _love_ it.”

The pizza came out, steaming fresh from the oven nearby, and Molly licked his lips in anticipation, and picked up a slice, looking over at Caleb. “So you hold it like—”

Caleb was frozen, hands already reaching for the fork and knife, looking at Molly as if he were a madman. Which it was very likely, but gods, not about _pizza._

“You’re supposed to eat it with your hands? Won’t it be messy?”

“Not when you lift it from the bread below,” he said, grinning. “Trust me, this is how to do it.”

Caleb very tentatively picked up a piece of pizza, hissing as he slipped his finger into the still hot tomato sauce on top. Finally, though, he held it up with his fingers on the bottom of the slice, looking worriedly to Molly.

“And then you eat it,” Molly said, and proceeded to show him how, folding it nearly in half and eating it. He moaned around the pizza, and looked to Caleb to see what he thought—and there went Caleb’s ears again, flushed, but his eyes were transfixed on Molly’s mouth.

Well that’s interesting. Molly chewed the bite quickly, trying to get it down so he could entice Caleb in _other_ ways, but Caleb’s eyes were now nearly crossed as he looked at his own pizza and ate it.

He chewed thoughtfully, his expression changing from wary to guarded to wonder. “Oh this is really good,” he said in surprise. “Really, _really_ good!”

“Told you,” he said, smiling.

The rest of the pizza was quickly eaten between the two of them, Caleb eating his half very quickly, finishing before Molly was even three fourths done. “That was delicious, thank you Molly.”

“You’re welcome, Caleb. I’m glad I could share this with you.”

He gave another half smile, and that heartstring was tugged again, and Molly knew he was lost.

When the time for the bill had come, he neatly paid for both his and Jester’s tab, and nodded to Caleb. “So.”

“So.” Caleb nodded back, looking solemn again.

“So, can we call this date a resounding success after the last one?”

“Well, the last one ended in tears and fighting, so anything is better than that, I think. But,” he paused, the dramatic shit, twisting his heart again. “I would like to have another date with you, Molly.”

“I would like to have another date with you, Caleb. A romantic one. Perhaps something more fun than last time?”

“Last time was perfect, except for, you know, the argument,” Caleb replied.

“Well, yes,” Molly replied. “But this time, I want to take you to place I like going.”

Caleb hesitated again. “What do you mean?”

“I’d like to take you dancing,” he said plainly. “Where I’m not working, somewhere loud and with a giant dance hall and a lot of booze.” Caleb frowned, and Molly considered pushing it—why not go where he wanted to go?—but if it was going to work out, he would want both of them happy, and that meant actually asking about it. “You don’t like that, do you. Okay, which part don’t you like?”

“The loud part, I think. I don’t like crowds,” he said.

“Fine, we’ll go to a smaller dancehall. One with less noise and less crowd. What do you say?”

He paused, gave a slightly bigger smile, and nodded. “Sounds wonderful, Mollymauk. I would like to go to this date with you.”

“I would love to go to this date with you too, Caleb.” Molly reached over to touch his wrist, and froze halfway. “May I touch your hand?”

He looked surprised, but nodded silently, and Molly stretched the rest of the way and laced fingers with Caleb’s, feeling the slightly cold fingers still covered in gentle dusting of flour. He wanted to kiss Caleb—but that would be another day, wouldn’t it?

When they left the restaurant, Nott and Jester bounded up before them, giggling. “DID IT WORK ARE YOU TWO TOGETHER” Jester shouted, and Nott just grinned at Caleb.

“That part we’ll have to see,” Molly said. “Maybe with a lot of discussion.”

Caleb looked at him, nodded imperceptibly, and added, “I think we’re just planning on having fun, right now.”

“You, fun?” Nott asked, grinning. “Next you’ll say we skip doing chores.”

Jester added, “Molly, you’ll have to teach Caleb what fun is.”

“I plan on it.” Molly gave Caleb a wink, and Caleb blushed slightly.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I didn’t do a super good job researching this besides the most cursory glances so forgive me, New Yorkers.  
> ** Forgive me, Italians.  
> *** Barneymugging was a popular word for sex. You’re welcome.  
> **** I did important Pizza research. Lombardi’s has been making pizzas for over ONE HUNDRED YEARS. THAT’S AMAZING. Also known as America’s First Pizzeria! http://www.firstpizza.com/


	7. Baby Won't You Please Come Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toya is missing. Caleb Widogast, P.I., is on the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS A WARNING (and a bit of a spoiler) but TOYA IS FINE. Kylre wants her as his daughter, she's not hurt, he's not sexually assaulting or murdering her. I promise you, she's fine.
> 
> [ My spotify playlist so far!](https://open.spotify.com/user/myriad.of.colors37/playlist/4fOZKDIlY1XXg4NVJerEHW?si=4Cl7VDGSRAigGg4xIR2V9A) How you use it: go by every chapter's song title and listen until the next chapter name. (There's a few good ones at the end I don't want to lose, so don't worry about those. Yet.)

“Toya is gone,” Mollymauk said, his lovely voice shaken. “Please, come quickly, Gustav is a mess.”

Caleb and Nott raced to the club at three in the afternoon. The kid at the counter waved them on, already expecting them, his own worried expression convincing them that yes, it was real. Nott was already in a panic about it, but Caleb held her hand firmly, saying, “It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay,” repeatedly, muttering it like a mantra he terribly needed to believe in himself. 

The call had come in just a few minutes ago, but already the club was busy, the familiar faces revealing the same worried, panicked look. “Gustav,” he said, to Beau and a few of the bandmembers. “Where is Gustav?”

“Back there,” Beau said, pointing backstage. Already he could hear wailing, loud and terrible. He gritted his teeth and pushed on. Nott pulled away from his grasp and rushed on ahead, into the open Stage Manager’s door where the wailing was loudest.

“What happened to Toya?” She demanded, as Caleb rounded the corner to see her facing down the sobbing Gustav, his head buried in Orna’s neck, her stoic face paler and more drawn than usual. Mollymauk paced in the background, and Fjord muttered at the map on the wall. On quick glance, it was of upstate New York—but why?

“She’s gone,” Orna said, glaring at Nott. “This isn’t a good time to play, kid.”

“Kylre took her,” Gustav wailed, his whole body shaking in his sobs. “My baby. My girl!” Orna held onto him tighter, her anger melting into concern for Gustav.

“Kylre?” Caleb asked.

Mollymauk spoke up, crossing his arms. “We’re pretty sure Kylre has her, our bootlegger, but for what purpose, we don’t know. We haven’t even gotten a ransom letter.” Caleb looked at him, fondness still tender in his heart, and Molly nodded and turned to look at the anguished couple. It had been a week since their date, the more successful one, but Caleb hadn’t been able to get to go to the club, having been swamped in work.

Right. Back to business. “Then how do you know it’s him?” Caleb asked.

“Because he was the only other one we can think of.” Mollymauk shrugged. “He was always hanging around her—”

“--I never should have let her play with him, but I thought, hell, he’s so good with kids, he mentioned wanting a f-f-faaaamily,” came a wail from the half-elf.

Caleb’s heart broke, but he needed to move on with the questioning. “You hire your private bootlegger?”

“We do,” Orna replied, looking over Gustav’s head. “Kylre has been good to us, faithful, on time, good product.” Her voice wobbled, strained. “He makes it somewhere out of the city, but he’s never told us where.”

“There’s a lot of places out of the city to make liquor,” Caleb said. “Do you have any idea?”

“We know it was somewhere out in Trostenwald, but where is anyone’s guess.” Fjord replied, pointing it out on the map. It looked a few inches away from New York City, but he couldn’t tell at this distance how far that could actually mean.

“What kind of liquors did he bring in?”

“Hard stuff. Gin, whiskey, some rum. He brought in absinthe once.” Fjord tried a smile, but it was a weak one.

“And he made these all himself?”

“No, there were a few other people helping him. Money’s tight on people out of the city, you know, they can get what jobs they can get.”

Caleb nodded. “So we find the accomplices. But the liquors, how much did he make?”

“About twenty cases a week,” Fjord replied. “I was the one to handle the order--I knew him the best.”

“A bigger distillery, then,” Caleb said, and then turned to Nott, who had begun sniffling in the corner. “Oh, Nott,” he murmured, reaching for her, but she hissed and swatted at his hand.

“Don’t you start, Caleb. I’m _fine_ , we need to find _Toya._ ”

Caleb nodded, chastened, and turned to Orna. “I have a few more questions. Time is of the essence, so we need to be sure that it was Kylre. When was the last time you saw her?”

“Around noon,” Fjord replied. “She was playing around Kylre’s truck. She liked helping us take out the load.”

It would have been certainly easy for him to snatch her up then. “And you’ve looked everywhere?”

“Yes, we did. Upstairs, everywhere she could have gone.”

“It seems the most likely that it was Kylre, then,” Caleb replied. “I will need someone with me who knows the area, or any of Kylre’s workers.”

Fjord nodded decisively. “I’ll go. Beau can do bartender duties.”

“Good. Then we’ll leave now.”

“By all means, please hurry,” Mollymauk replied. “She’s one of ours; she’s as much our daughter as she is his. I’ll go with you too.”

“We have the show,” Yasha reminded him.

“Fuck, you’re right. And the show must go on,” Orna said. “Molly, you can’t go. You’re our headliner. Fjord, go with Mr. Widogast, bring our Toya back.” The tremor in her voice belied the strength in the order. She was just as affected as they all were.

“But Yasha and Jester can do just as well—”

“No. We lose you, we lose clients. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.”

Molly narrowed his eyes at her. “They’ll be fine for half a day, at most. We won’t be able to find out much late at night anyways, everyone will be asleep!”

“Except for bootleggers and speakeasies like us,” Orna replied. “Molly, you stay. Fjord, you go.”

Fjord nodded again, and Caleb noticed that everyone eyed Molly warily before he shrugged. “Fine, fine. Just bring her back, Caleb,” he said, crossing his arms.

Caleb gestured to Fjord. “Unless you have anything else you need to do, we should move quickly. We don’t know what he could have done with her.”

Gustav wailed anew, and Caleb, realizing what he said, was gripped suddenly by anxiety—he should say something, do something better, different—but Fjord merely shook his head. “You’re right. We need to leave now.” He looked over to Orna and Gustav. “We’ll find her, I promise,” he said, and left the room. Caleb and Nott followed him out the backstage, but he pulled her aside.

“You’re coming, yes?”

“Of _course_ I am! Kylre could hurt her!”

“But if Kylre is taking little girls,” Caleb replied, “then I worry about what he could do if he caught you.”

Nott gritted her teeth, and pulled out a small pistol that she had stolen years ago, revealing it to him. “I’m coming, Caleb,” she informed him, glaring “There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“No, you’re entirely right. Come on, then,” Caleb said, and they hurried to catch up to Fjord, who was putting on his hat.

They were soon on their way, Fjord’s map sprawled over the dashboard on the passenger’s side, and a few terse directions got them out of the city and onto the larger motorways. Caleb’s car continued to make worrying rattling sounds, but it held together, even at the faster speeds of 30 mph.

Once they were headed in the right direction, Caleb cleared his throat. “Do you know anything about this Kylre?”

Fjord stared straight ahead through the window. “I was the one to find him,” he said. “He was a good guy, I had no idea he wanted to do this.”

“Where did you find him?”

“At a place just out of the city. Another speakeasy like the Fletching and Moondrop, but held in a barn.”

“Whose barn?”

Fjord shrugged. “Never asked.”

“Where?”

“In Trostenwald? It was a tiny place, just outside of the town, really.”

“What kind of man is Kylre?”

“He’s… I don’t know. A bit ugly, but he seemed sweet, like he just wanted to play ball with Toya and sometimes he’d tell her stories about the things he’d seen, but it was never… unnatural, you understand?”

“I understand.”

“He was nice, even if he was an ugly motherfucker. Oh shit—” he said, turning around to glance at Nott behind them. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have sworn.”

“It’s okay,” Nott replied. “I don’t fucking mind.”

Fjord snorted and grinned. “Well, then. I don’t fucking mind either.” He sat back in the seat, looking at Caleb. “He always mentioned wanting a daughter just like Toya, but he was… well, I don’t imagine he got many girls asking to walk them home.”

Caleb nodded. “Do you have any idea where he is?”

“I have some. I believe the turn is just ahead.”

“Ah, thank you,” Caleb replied, and drove towards the town.

It was a small farming town, enough people in there that it wasn’t a strange sight to see another car driving up the road. Fjord led him to the barn that had held the speakeasy, and they asked (offering a few dollars for their sincerity) the owners of the barn if they had seen Kylre. The dark brown halfling eyed the money and pocketed it. “He ain’ been by today. He seemed odd though, like he’d settled on some’in’. Told us all he made his next to last delivery, said he’d gotten tickets outta here.”

“Do you know where he got tickets to?”

“No sir, I don’t.” The halffling shook his head. “Is there any’in else?”

“Do you know where he brews the stuff?”

The halfling narrowed his eyes at the two, and Fjord cleared his throat. “We’re not here to make any trouble,” he said in his low drawl. “This man here ain’t a cop, he’s a P.I., we’re just looking for a dwarf girl we think Kylre took.”

Behind him, a tiny cry rang out, the small wails of a toddler, and a woman’s soothing voice. The halfling looked back, and came back to frown at them further.

“He said it was his kid. The girl? He took a photograph of her, little dwarven girl, right? Said that the Vaudeville show made her act herself to death, near to the bone, said they stole her and he was jist workin’ to get money to get her back, and get them outta the country. Said yesterday, it was time, said he wanted all the money now so he could get the tickets to his homeland.”

“His homeland, sir?” Caleb tried to look patient.

“Canada. City that started with an M, I think. Mon tree all?”

“Montreal?”

“That’s it.” The halfling paused while another wail called out. “You’re sure he kidnapped her? He seems to love her like his own.”

“He took Toya from her parents,” Fjord informed him. “They’re heartbroken.” He nodded his head, the brim of his hat exaggerating the movement. “’M sure you’d understand.”

“Of-f course,” he replied, and nodded. “That’s all I know, I’m sorry. I don’t imagine he’d do anything to harm the child—”

“You have given us so much,” Caleb interrupted, “but do you have any other ideas on where they could be?”

“’M afraid I don’t,” he replied. “Is there anything else I can help you with, though?” 

“No, sir,” Caleb replied, bowing his head gratefully. “Please take care of yourself.” The halfling closed the door, and the investigator pursed his lips and turned to Fjord.

“He’s taking her up to Montreal, then. But where? This is a big city, _ja_?”

“Yeah. Come on, I think I know where he worked his booze.”

Back in the car, they relayed this to Nott, who narrowed her eyes and hissed at them. “He took her to _Montreal?_ But—how?”

“The gentleman there mentioned tickets—so the train?”

Caleb bit his lip. “How would he have gotten Toya through? He wouldn’t have had her passport, or legal documents. It’s possible border patrol has them.”

Fjord furrowed his brow. “Let’s find out what we can here before we make conclusions or hope. He wasn’t very pretty, but he did have a good handle on sneaking past cops.”

Caleb drove them out further past what might even be considered a village, past a few more forlorn houses and barns before the road led them through a forest to a wide lake, mirroring the dusky sky, surrounded by trees. Caleb felt a breath catch in his throat, and a powerful twin feeling of homesickness and shame wrapped around his lungs.

But Fjord and Nott paid no mind to him. Fjord was already pointing to the other side of the lake, where a house sat, a few men chatting on the porch.

“Now, if I were you,” Fjord said in a low voice, “I’d be ready to tousle. Bootleggers are mad folk, madder ‘n you and me, and they think you’re a cop, they might just shoot you. Perhaps I should do the talking.”

“I agree,” Caleb said, driving very slowly towards the house. The men in the rocking chairs outside perked up as they drove up, and curved off to the side—ready to make a quick getaway, if need be.  “Nott, stay in the car.”

“Like _hell_ I am,” she said, loading her pistol. “If they’re going to fight, they’re going to fight dirty, and you’ll need me by your side.”

He smiled a ghost of a smile, and nodded. “Then be safe. Fjord, are you packing?”

Fjord nodded and revealed a pistol in his coat pocket. “Just—let me take the lead.”

“As long as we find out where Kylre plans on going, and if he really did take Toya.”

They exited the car and grouped in front of it, the heat from the car on their backs. “Weren’t there just two of them?” Nott asked fearfully. They were surrounded by people with guns, spells, and every sort of weapon imaginable, including one man with a sword.

Caleb squinted, and the house and its residents shifted, and he sighed. An illusion spell. “Fjord, Nott—it’s an illusion,” he informed them, and just like that the only people in front of them were the two men on the porch. The men in the rocking chairs were standing up now. A half elf held a shotgun while the other, a human, held up a spell in their hands, gleaming with power.

“Y’all, we don’t want any trouble,” the one with the shotgun called out. “We just want peace and quiet on this fine evenin’.”

“Believe me, so do I,” Fjord said, taking a step forward—and both of them cocked their weapons, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent clearing.

“Not a step further,” the human said.

“We’re not cops!” Caleb supplied, and both Fjord and Nott shot him a _horrible_ look.

“Y’all are _cops?”_ The spellcaster screeched. “Fuck me, they’re _cops_.”

The half-elf with the shotgun whistled using two fingers, and three other folk came out of the house, two with shotguns and a middle aged dwarven woman with a glowing hand.

“ _Fuck_.” Fjord shot Caleb a dirty look. “Just—stop, ok?” To the people who were very willing to kill them, he offered, “listen. We’re not cops. He’s a P.I., and now I’m wondering how he ever managed to get this far, but whatever business you’re doin’ out here is your own. I work at a speakeasy, we rely on y’all’s products, so no judgment here. All we want is information about the man called Kylre, and we’ll gladly forget this place exists.”

The woman stepped forward. “Kylre? What do you need to know about him?”

“Mrs. Norda, I don’t think—” the half-elf spoke up.

“Quiet. You’re not in charge here, Rolf, I am.” The woman strode forward a few more paces, just past the porch. “Kylre don’t work here no more. He’s gone up north, to his ma.”

“Ask her about an address,” Caleb muttered. “Anything she might know.”

“What’s that? Speak up, Private Eye, before I blast you with a fireball. I don’t want _any_ funny business.”

Caleb cleared his throat. “I wanted him to ask you if you knew an address of his mother?”

“Do I look like his secretary, Mr. Private Eye?” Her men snickered, and she allowed herself a smirk before glaring at them all. “No, I don’t have an address. All I know is that he told me he needed his earnings, that he was leaving after a shipment today, and that would be the last I heard of him. Clearly, he was wrong.”

“He took our friends’ daughter, ma’am,” Fjord said, and took off his hat, crushing it sorrowfully in his hands. “Took her and we don’t know where to look for her.”

She stiffened momentarily. It was a good guess—she was probably a woman with children of her own, who needed to make good money to be able to feed them. Caleb realized he should take Fjord more often on investigations, he was _much_ better than he was on these excursions.

“The way he told it, Toya was his girl,” she said. “Said he put her up with some nice folk in the city, said they made her dance in fucking Vaudeville shows for money.”

Nott peeked behind Caleb’s coat. “That’s not true! She’s my friend—we played backstage of a speakeasy, she wasn’t forced to do _anything!_ ”

“It’s true,” Caleb said. “She is well loved and well taken care of by her parents.”

Mrs. Norda glared at him—oh, she still didn’t like _him_ —but shook her head. “Well, this is a predicament. I known Kylre for three years—he’s a bit odd, but a good man. I don’t think the man has a bad bone in his body. But y’all say he took the girl away from her loving family?”

“Very loving,” Caleb added.

“Why should I trust you?” She asked. “You’re not cops, or you wouldn’t be fucking with asking before shootin’, and you’re not my employee, who I know and have come to respect.”

Nott took a step out from behind Caleb’s coat, her hands open and up in the air. “I’m unarmed!” she said, and slowly pulled out a piece of paper from her dress. Caleb tried to peek, but all he could tell was that it was a photograph. Slowly and carefully, she walked over to Mrs. Yorda, who watched her apprehensively. Once they were in arm’s reach, Nott handed her the photograph.

“My friend and I, we visit her every week—well, mostly—and I just wanted to keep this to remember right now by—or, not now now, while she’s kidnapped, but _now_ where we’re friends and having a good time. That’s most of the crew at the Fletching and Moondrop, and you can see her mother with her hand on her shoulder, her father next to her, the ones in the middle, and everyone is having fun. It’s a family, as sure as anything.”

Mrs. Norda stared at the photograph for a minute or two before nodding slowly. “I’m tempted to believe ye, girl. I’m horrified by what our Kylre could have done with Toya, and upsets me so, but you say she’s loved by her parents?”

“Very much so, ma’am,” she said.

Fjord cleared his throat. “I’m in that picture as well, Mrs. Norda, in the far back.”

She looked it over again and examined it again, and nodded. “Ah, there you are.” She took in a deep breath, and handed the photograph back to Nott. “I can’t tell you very much, he didn’t leave a forwarding address with me or nothin’, but I do know that he was going to aim for construction next. I sent him with a nice letter of recommendation, that’s what he asked from me.”

“Mrs. Norda,” the half-elf called out. “He did say his mama’s a Catholic. Prays at some big church, Nort-e Dam-a somethin’ or other.”

“Notre Dame?” Caleb guessed.

“Yeah! But Kylre was one of them French Canadians, he had a much longer name for it.”

French Catholics always do, Caleb thought, and nodded his head. “Thank you so, so much,” he said. “This helps us so much.”

“You’re welcome. And I’d like to kindly remind you all to never come back here,” she said, her hand lighting once more. “And never tell the police, o’ course.”

“Never, ma’am,” Fjord said, and put on his hat before tipping it towards the bootleggers. Nott skittered around to the car and threw herself into the backseat.

“You’ve got a plan, don’t cha, Caleb?” Fjord asked as he folded himself back in the passenger seat.

“Indeed I do,” he said, turning on the car and rolling on the dirt road out to Trostenwald and New York City.

“So what we gotta do is find the church,” Nott said, propping her elbows on the back of his seat, leaning in. “Find the church, find his mother, and find Kylre.”

“Absolutely,” Caleb said with a half smile. “But there are a lot of things we must prepare for.”

“Like what? We can go _right now_ ,” she said.

“Not yet. Let’s go tell what we know back at the club, and then we’ll make a plan from there. There’s a suspicion I’d like to settle out first, and then we need to pack.”

 

* * *

 

“She’s in _Montreal?”_ Gustav gasped. They were seated in the stage managers’ office, having closed the door on what seemed like half of the crew, eager to hear news.

Orna held her husband’s hand, also in shock. “That’s… hundreds of miles away from here!”

“The Adirondack will take us there. The next train leaves at 8:15 in the morning, which I intend to go on,” he said, and wavered. “But I need to know something. Would you mind finding your daughter’s passport for me?”

Orna was taken aback. “How did you know we had one for her?”

“Fjord informed me you’re from Canada,” he replied. “You brought her over when she was younger, yes?”

“About two years ago,” Gustav said, as Orna rose from her seat to the cabinet in the back corner, rifling through papers before pulling out one, two—and sharply inhaled.

“It’s gone. Her passport is _gone_.”

“Kylre must have asked her about it, gotten her to find them for him. It would be _much_ easier for the two of them if he held her passport. It would lend an air of authority—an older brother, perhaps, or a dear uncle.”

Gustav shook his head. “I just don’t understand—why would he do this?”

“Because he’s _sick,_ ” Orna snapped. “He’s sick and wants our daughter.”

“I don’t know his exact reasoning,” Caleb offered, “but I do plan to get her back.”

“I’ll go with you,” Gustav said, standing up, before his knees buckled and he sank back down. “I can’t go, I can’t fight him.”

Orna narrowed her eyes. “ _I’ll_ go. You can stay here and tend after the club.” And then she gasped, and swore. “Oh, _fuck_. The Gentleman.”

Caleb’s attention snapped back to her. “The Gentleman?”

“The Gentleman has been… more politely hounding us to sell half the club to him,” Gustav explained. “He requested for our close for one night while we discuss business.”

“But, he’s…”

“Evil? A mastermind? Someone we shouldn’t dally with?” Orna sighed. “We know. But he’s offering us double what we’d make anyways, just to meet with him, have him see our business as a ‘friendly investor,’ he called it.” The distaste curled like smoke in her mouth.

“Then why work with him?” Nott asked.

“We’re mostly scrapping by,” Gustav replied. “We do good enough business, but with the Gentleman we can do so much more. He promises security, too—no more police raids.”

Caleb furrowed his brow and frowned, but Orna shook her head. “I know, it seems like the shittiest decision, but security would be _a lot_ for us. We could even retire.”

“I don’t want to retire,” Gustav argued tiredly. “I’ve told you this. I love the stage.”

Orna looked up to the ceiling and took a deep breath. “Yes, dear. I know you do. But living our lives as respectable people—”

Caleb cleared his throat. “Forgive me—but Toya might recognize me in Montreal, or she might not. I would need someone’s help in persuading her to come back home, especially if she’s under a spell of his.”

“I’ll go!” Nott leapt up from the table where she had perched, watching the conversation. “She’ll remember me!”

Caleb shook his head. “Nott, you are my very good friend, and if we were not going across to Canada I would take you,” he said. “But I don’t have _any_ documentation for you. Nothing. Nothing to show you’re an American citizen, nothing to show you can go to Canada—”

“I’ll sneak on! I’ll hide in a suitcase!”

“For hours? Days?” He shook his head. “No, my friend, you must stay here.”

“But what will you do if he attacks you? How will you protect yourself?”

“I’m a very good wizard, Nott,” he said solemnly. “And I’ll be alright. But you can help me in other ways here, but I’ll tell them to you later, _ja_?” He turned to Gustav and Orna. “Do you have anyone who can travel to Canada and back who Toya would recognize?”

They looked to each other.

 

* * *

 

“No. No way.”

“Molly, please—”

“I’m not _going_ , I’m not going anywhere _near_ Canada, I’m not going back to Toronto—” They were in the men’s dressing room, Gustav and Orna cornering the hounded looking singer.

“It’s Montreal, you won’t be any closer than if you went to _Vermont_ —”

“Molly. Mollymauk. This is our _daughter_ ,” Orna said, cupping his face in between her hands. He tried to jerk out of the hold, but she just held on, her eyes large and sad. “My _daughter_ , Molly. Please. _Toya_.”

“You told me, I never had to go back there, I’m _not_ —” He sagged, the fight knocked out of him. “Why do you need me, specifically, to go to Canada?”

“Because I need someone she will absolutely recognize,” Caleb said from behind them. “And they’re going to speak to the Gentleman, and you can’t turn down an invitation from _him_.” There were _many_ legends on the streets about what happened if you didn’t answer his beck and call—and many bodies in the Hudson River to prove it.  

“So reschedule!” He sighed. “Why _me_?”

“Because you have a passport,” Gustav said.

“I should have ripped it up,” he retorted. “Orna, I’ll take the place of Gustav’s lovely wife, you can go to Montreal instead.”

“I _can’t_ ,” she said. “If I go, then the Gentleman will know that something is wrong, and use that against us.”

Mollymauk sighed, very deeply, and then looked to Caleb. “When do we leave,” he asked dully.

“Tomorrow at 8:15 in the morning.”

Mollymauk whined in his throat for a good five seconds, before sighing and nodding. “Fine. I’ll go, and I’ll bring Toya back. But I want it known that I did it out of _love_ and _kindness_ of my heart. And that I also want a raise.”

“We can’t possibly pay you that much,” Orna said.

“Fine. Then it’s the _love_ and _generosity_ and _kindness of my heart_.” He scowled, and glared at Caleb. “I’ll be there at 8 tomorrow—but that means I have to go home and pack _now._ ”

“We’ll likely only be there for two days, three days at the most.” It was Thursday, when they boarded it would be Friday, that would leave Saturday and Sunday and Monday to find Toya. If they were lucky, Kylre’s mother would be devout enough to go on Saturdays. If not… they would have to figure another plan.

“A lot can happen in three days,” Molly retorted, and stomped off.

“Thank you,” Orna said. “I don’t think he would have listened if you weren’t here to help.”

“I don’t know if I helped very much,” Caleb admitted. “But you’re welcome. We’ll call you with updates along the way.”

“Please do. And Caleb?”

“ _Ja?_ ”

“Bring our baby home,” Orna said, lacing her hand with her husband's. "Please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LET'S GO TO MONTREAL! A PLACE I KNOW LESS ABOUT THAN NEW YORK CITY! 
> 
> I'm so incredibly touched by all your comments, and I'm living for them for sure, I just have to look at them in little jaunts like the way you look at the Sistine Chapel. "OH THAT'S BEAUTIFUL i'm getting dizzy OH WOW oh man I'm getting a nosebleed BUT IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL."


	8. Take The "A" Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb and Molly take the train up to Montreal to search for Toya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long; I was not very good at making myself write. However, I do plan on getting the next chapter out SOON, because I, too, would like to see Toya safe at home. Also, I HAVE NEVER BEEN TO MONTREAL. I'm sorry if this is completely inaccurate of anything but I stared at Google Maps and did a lot of research on where things would be in relation to the Basilica Notre-Dame (which isn't a basilica yet, that was done in 1986). I am armed with Google and not afraid to use it.

It was bone-shakingly early when Caleb and Nott arrived at the train station. She had already given him many lectures about the dangers of the world, made him promise to call her _every night_ , or she would smuggle herself up to Canada. And, with a pained expression but a clenched jaw, she grabbed Caleb’s chin to bore straight into his eyes with hers. “Whatever you do with Mollymauk, make sure you’re safe about it.”

Caleb shook his head. “We’re going to do detective work, we’re not going on a romantic honeymoon.”

“Well, just. If he makes a move you don’t like, don’t be afraid to tell him. Or tell _me_ , and I’ll kill him for you.”

He inhaled sharply, but let it all go as he sighed. “Nott. I am perfectly fine taking care of myself. And Molly has. Well. Not been a perfect gentleman, but he has been better about asking, making sure I know what we are doing.” They had not kissed yet, not on the mouth anyways, but Molly had pulled him aside backstage the night before to ask for a kiss, and then pressed his lips to Caleb’s right cheek, and he had felt the warm bloom and unfurl from that spot down to his toes and through the roots of his hair.  

“He better.” She let him go and sat on the edge of his bed, crossing her arms.

“I am not certain, but I thought you liked him?”

“I do, or I did before I realized he is the biggest scoundrel and cad of New York. I don’t want you hurt.”

Caleb didn’t respond for a minute or two, trying to jam in enough books for the train rides to and fro, but when he did he said slowly, gingerly, “It’s not going to last forever, this relationship. We are too different of people. I know this, I accept this, so when he does hurt me, it will not hurt as bad.”

Nott frowned. “That’s a terrible way to live.”

He merely shrugged, and said nothing in return.

Now, at 8:08 in the morning, Caleb and Nott stood in the Grand Central Station terminal, waiting for Mollymauk to arrive. “He’ll be late soon,” Nott grumbled.

Caleb nodded, and double checked the tickets in his hand. Two of them, from New York to Montreal, 8:15 AM to 3:21 PM. Orna and Gustav had given them a small stipend, sixty dollars for room and travel, but the tickets had nearly depleted it at $32.98. He had pulled one hundred from his own private stash (behind a framed picture on the wall in his apartment), but with luck they wouldn’t need it as much. They would also need to change currency once in Canada.

“Oh, here he comes—oh my gods.”

Caleb looked up, and blinked a few more times to try to understand what his eyes were seeing. Molly strode confidently, wearing a blue jacket with golden embroidery, a white collared shirt underneath, and a rich emerald cloak, hanging from his shoulders, that shimmered blue with every new light. Behind him, Fjord laboriously carried two heavy purple suitcases, and Jester followed behind with a bag of pastries which she was happily munching on.

“Good morning!” He cheered as he approached. “Well, did you get the tickets?”

“I did,” he replied. “We’re almost late for the train, we should be getting on soon.”

“Nonsense, we have time for coffee and a breakfast, don’t we?”

Just then, the conductor of the train called, “ALL ABOARD for MONTREAL!” And the crowd that had gathered there, waiting for their turn, began to push on board.

“We don’t,” Caleb replied, and bent to hug Nott. “Please stay safe, my little friend.”

“Of course, you idiot,” she responded, and hugged him back. “You take care. _Call me._ ”

“Of course, _mein Schatzi._ *” Caleb kissed her on the top of her head and straightened, nodding to Jester and Fjord. “Thank you for watching Nott while we’re gone.”

“Of course! She’s more than welcome, we’ll have fun and play games and Nott, I can show you all my favorite bakeries!”

Nott grinned. “That will be fun! Do you think they have any baked rats?”

“What?”

The conductor’s whistle shrieked again, and Caleb took one of the suitcases, realizing that it was heavier than imagined. “Mollymauk, we’ll be going for three days, what did you put in here?”

“Everything I might need! A lot can happen in three days,” he argued, and strode for the train. “Come on, we’re about to be late!”

Once on board, they found an empty compartment and bustled in, closing the doors behind them. Mollymauk immediately took off his overcoat and laid it out on top of him. “Caleb, I would love to spend the next nine hours talking with you, but this is a frightfully early hour and I am going to sleep. Please don’t talk to me for at least,” he thought about it, “three hours.”

Taken aback, Caleb blinked. “Uh—alright?”

“No, not talking at all.”

Mollymauk fell asleep with astounding swiftness, his soft snores filling the compartment, and Caleb smiled to himself, and fetched one of the books he was undoubtedly excited to read: _Ulysses_ by James Joyce, smuggled in from Paris to a bookstore he was well acquainted with and willing to sell him the book under the cover of a more decent fiction. The New York Society for the Suppression of Vice had decided that the book was too sexually explicit, and now it was illegal for any copies of the book to be sold.

He read for a while, then watched the landscape pass by, and then returned to his book. He was muttering to himself as he reread another page, not quite getting what the author had meant, when Molly startled him by asking, voice rough with sleep, “Is there some place to buy coffee on the train?”

He jumped, and looked up guiltily. “I do not know, we have only been traveling for an hour and a half.”

“Shit. It’s still too early.” He grumbled, and shifted a bit more on the seat before sighing and looking at him. “What’re you reading over there?”

“ _Ulysses_. It’s banned in the States.”

“Banned?” Molly’s ears perked. “Why?”

“Someone in the book takes his own pleasure in detail.” He could not look at Molly, and instead frowns down at the book. “But I have not gotten there yet.”

“Oh, one of _those_ kinds of books.” Mollymauk grinned, and finally sat up and stretched, giving Caleb an unfettered view of his lean physique. “Well, if you were interested in that sort, we could certainly make this ride a lot more enjoyable.”

“Here? In front of everyone?” The compartment doors had glass windows that rattled, and he could hear the next compartment having a polite conversation.

Mollymauk wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m down if you are,” he offered, leaning in, and then leaned away from him when Caleb shook his head. “No? Alright, I’m in no rush. I’m not exactly comfortable here either, and when we do—if we do—I would like it to be a wonderfully luxurious time.”

Caleb could feel himself flush deep red. “I’m. Ah.”

“Oh shit, did I make you nervous?” Molly looked at him, concerned. “Fuck. Didn’t mean to do that. I just wanted you to know that I am very much attracted to you.”

“I’m. Same at you,” he said, and buried his face in his hands. This was terrible. This was the worst situation ever and he was so incredibly awkward it was a wonder no one cringed whenever he spoke, and—

“Thank you, but really, Caleb, it’s okay. Would you prefer we hold off on that sort of thing until we’re more comfortable?”

“ _Ja,_ ” he said, peeking through his fingers, and Molly was looking so kind, so concerned, that he took in a deep breath. “We haven’t even kissed yet.”

“Well we can certainly fix that,” he said, and scooted closer towards Caleb. “If you’d like, of course.”

Caleb brought his hands down, and looked nervously at their knees, nearly touching. “I would,” he said quietly, and looked up at Molly’s face, wearing a warm smile, his red eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Come closer,” Molly said, and Caleb did so. He licked his lips, self-conscious, and Molly repeated it, and oh, that action just set a fire in his stomach, the butterflies dancing along them in a waltz.

Then they were near, then closer, then closer still, their breath intermingling together, and Mollymauk’s eyes were locked on his, before shuttering closed as he brushed his lips against Caleb’s, a ghost of a kiss, but it deepened further and he could taste the morning breath and coffee and taste of something like cardamom and cinnamon and _oh_ he felt warm, like he had swallowed the sun and now it burned bright in his heart.

“Good?” Molly breathed.

“Good,” he breathed back, and Caleb’s hands fluttered towards Mollymauk, unsure if they were allowed, unsure if he was allowed to ask for more, but Molly grinned and moved again, his hands brushing against his cheeks, then cupping them, making Caleb feel like a precious thing held between those purple hands, and an inch away he asked, “Is this okay?”

“ _Ja_.”

“I would like to kiss you more. Would you like that as well?”

“ _Ja, bitte_ ,” he said desperately, and they kissed, slowly, taking their time between gasps and little sighs and shifting, and Molly’s hands moved from his face to his shoulders, and then threading through his hair, and _oh_ it felt so good, his spine was turned into melting wax, and Mollymauk was on his lap, moaning into his mouth—

A knock sounded at the door, startling the two of them apart, staring at a portly conductor who shook his head at them before moving on. Molly was still panting, and gave Caleb a cheeky grin. “Well then,” he said. “You kiss like an angel, Mr. Widogast—you’ve been hiding that from me.”

“You kiss like…” he couldn’t think of anything, fuck fuck fuck. “Good.”

“I do kiss like good,” he replied, and winked when Caleb flushed. “I’m glad to hear we’re quite compatible in the kissing arena of our relationship, I once had a girl who tasted like tuna all the time, it was awful.”

Caleb gulped. He did not want to think about Molly kissing any girls, or boys, or anyone besides him, tuna smell or no. But this was… ridiculous, of course, to be possessive, to act like he owned Molly in any way. Still, he felt the small seed of bitterness lodge in his heart grow a stalk, the same one that had been watered and sunned by Molly’s dalliance with Jakob Kosh and the infamous amount of bedfellows he had taken.

“—But if we wanted a bit of privacy, I could hang up my coat so we could have some more intimate time before we arrive.”

Caleb shook himself of the reverie, and stared at Molly, having processed the words belatedly, before shaking his head. “I do not want to have sexual relations in a train car,” he said baldly. “It does not sound very comfortable.”

“It’s not, but I wasn’t suggesting that.” He reached up, cupped a hand around his cheek again, and brushed the thumb at the sensitive crease of his eye. “For that, I want something entirely different. Take you to my bed and kiss every inch of you. Take you apart slowly and make you moan my name until that’s all you can say.”

Caleb flushed anew, and looked at their knees, barely touching. “That… I don’t—”

“No?” Molly pulled back, looking confused and worried. “Oh. You really don’t want to do it?”

He gulped, looking harder at his knees, now estranged from Mollymauk’s. “I did not mean I did not want it, I am just. Nervous.”

“Ah!” Molly looked relieved. “That I know what to do about. Don’t you worry, we can figure that out later, I’m not going to rush you, we’re gonna take this at your speed, alright?”

The warmth in his heart that bloomed during the kiss had been dashed, he threw out, “Even if it’s at a slow speed?”

“ _Shneller_?” Molly asked, and when Caleb looked up in surprise he grinned. “I’ve been doing some studying. That’s slower, right?”

That bloom spread once more. Molly was learning German? “ _Nein, langsamer,”_ he corrected. “ _Shneller_ is faster.”

“Well, damn. Fine, we’ll go as _langsamer_ as you need.” He lifted a hand and paused. “May I hold your hand?”

The warmth pulsed through him. “Yes.”

Molly’s hand was warm, too warm, and soft, and Caleb smiled at their hands laced together, their thumbs rubbing gently against each other, and then smiled up at Molly. Molly was smiling back, and something shifted in his heart.

“This is good,” Caleb said.

“This is,” Molly agreed.

They shared a lunch that Mollymauk gallantly bought and brought back to the compartment, turkey sandwiches and a cup of coffee each. They spoke of what would need to be done—taking care of Toya was the priority here, and whatever happened to Kylre would have to be up to the Canadian police, or perhaps they could just steal Toya and leave him there. Molly was hesitant about bringing in the police. “I don’t like them,” he said flippantly. “Too many questions. Do we have a permit for going over and taking back Toya?”

“No,” Caleb admitted. “I did not think about that.”

“Exactly. International affairs are tricky as fuck. We’d do well to just leave him and snatch back Toya.” Molly stretched in his seat, and Caleb watched, admiring his lean physique. Molly noticed, and winked. “You can look, I know I’m beautiful.”

Caleb flushed, looking away, and Molly chuckled in his throat, a pleasant sound that Caleb quite wanted to tease out of him further, but he refused to think more about _that_. Instead, Caleb asked, “Why didn’t you want to return to Canada?”

Mollymauk froze for a heartbeat before grinning. “Didn’t want to sound unpatriotic. The good ole U. S. of A.! Freedom! Democracy! All that jazz.”

Well that was a bullshit answer. “I thought you were Canadian though?”

“And you’re German, but I don’t see you wanting to travel back,” he responded sharply, and Caleb winced, and fell silent, thinking about ways to explain without explaining what had happened, but the moment was soon lost.

The rest of the train ride was awkward, to say the least. It finally ended at 3:21, and Caleb grabbed his suitcase and left the train, waiting for Mollymauk to join him, and then they waited silently together in the line for Border Patrol to check their passports. Caleb worried his with a finger, touching the softened, fraying corners often. His passport was high quality, he had paid with his blood and mouth and remaining _Marks_ and he ought to be able to get through, but if not, he would be shipped back to the States, and Mollymauk would have to be on his own in a new city (or maybe not so new). But what if they knew it was a fake altogether? What if he was shipped back to _Deutschland_ , in chains, to face the newly decimated but still active German courts? He was a deserter and a fraud and they have shot men like him before without repercussions, and this was going to throw him back, they were going to kill him—

“Caleb, love,” Molly said, leaning into his ear. “Caleb, come back to me, we’re alright.”

Caleb looked at him, his eyes wild and unfocused with panic. His heart was racing, everything seemed to go so _fast_ , and Molly merely reached down and held his hand. At first, Caleb flinched at the touch, but Molly’s hands were soft and warm, he liked this, it was a good feeling, and Caleb closed his eyes, trying to feel that feeling as much as he could, bring him back to it.

Molly was speaking, low in his ear, he missed half of it: “… It’s alright Caleb, I’m here, we’re going to get through Border Patrol just fine, let me do it, I can speak French I think, so we’ll be okay, and then we’re going to find a nice hotel, we’ll scout around and find this church of theirs, and then we’ll find some good dinner. I could go for a nice French meal myself, but poutine sounds delicious as well. Do you think we can bring some back for Nott and the others?”

Caleb sobbed a laugh. “I don’t think it would keep very well, but perhaps?”

“Great, we’ll have pocket poutine. It’ll be like Beau’s pocket bacon, but worse. Maybe we should slide it into someone else’s pockets so they have to have gravy and potatoes in _their_ pants, but who knows, maybe we’ll find a container or something we can bring it in. I hope that doesn’t violate Border Patrol—” When Caleb tensed again, squeezing Molly’s hand, he stopped himself and said, “Shit.” He took a breath and said, “Okay, here they are,” and squeezed his hand once, twice, and let go, but brought Caleb’s hand respectfully on his elbow, and began speaking to the severe gentleman waiting for their passports.

Molly did speak French, which Caleb did not have a grasp of, but did have a grasp on Molly’s attitude. Soon he was cheerfully grinning, flirting even, pointing to Caleb with a warm smile and then saying, “Honey, your _papiers,_ your papers, please?” And he handed it over to the man, smiling only perfunctorily before dipping his head into Molly’s shoulders. “My fiancé, he’s a bit shy, never been to the sweet homeland before, we’re meeting my parents,” Molly added smoothly in English. “Terribly shy, but when he smiles, oh, it’s the best thing my eyes have ever seen.”

The man, who looked as likely to be charmed as a stump, was actually smiling, and then responding in French and English interchangeably, giving what sounded like directions for restaurants and tourist attractions, before Molly smiled hugely and asked, “Oh! My brother in law, my sister’s brother, he brought a small girl with him, my lovely niece Toya, did you happen to see them?”

Caleb snapped back to focus, watching the man explain in French and gestures, the universal language, of a _very_ large fellow, not exactly the prettiest person around, and a small dwarf girl, they had gone through his line and he was unpleasant and rude at first, then “as charming as yourself, _monsieur,_ ” he said to Mollymauk.

Mollymauk nodded, and asked, “My good sir, this is excellent news, I was so hoping they would arrive safely. Did you happen to give them any directions to anything?”

“No, I didn’t, they left suddenly,” he said, snorting hard as if that was the height of rudeness. “They mentioned seeing their mother—your mother-in-law, I presume?—in Griffintown.”

“Ah, Griffintown! That’s right, he was mentioning something like that, wasn’t he, Caleb?” Molly said, and beamed at the man. “Thank you, so very much, you’ve been a great friend to us today.”

“You’re quite welcome, Mr. Tealeaf, Mr. Widogast,” he said, and handed back the passports. “Welcome to Montreal.”

Once they were past the kiosks, and through to the terminal, Caleb pulled away from Mollymauk and headed straight to the small corner shop inside the station, and found to his dismay that while purchasing a map he was unable to do so with American dollars. He found Mollymauk at the moneychanger, chatting with the elderly man as if they were best friend, and changed the rest of the Fletchings’ money over to Canadian dollars, grumpily. Once the money was exchanged, he went to purchase the map of the city. He studied it as Mollymauk went about finding guest services at the station, inquiring after hotels. Once the information was procured, Mollymauk took them out into the chilly October afternoon, full of bustling people about their day, and hailed a cab, muttering, “I would if I should show a leg here like I do in New York—think that would work?”

“I think now is a bad time to make an international scene, Mr. Tealeaf,” Caleb responded, still nose deep in the map.

“These legs are an international scene,” he retorted, and when Caleb looked up he winked.

Griffintown wasn’t far at all—a few blocks, really—but with the luggage it made all the difference in the world. Molly tipped the man generously after a cheerful discussion, and Caleb realized how relaxed he felt with Molly taking the lead on normal conversations, especially with witnesses. “Thank you,” he said, once they had settled into a small room (two single beds, they were partners in this scenario, traveling salesmen working together, and paid their halves). Mollymauk had taken over the closet, already hanging up clothes, and from his bag came more and more bags, accoutrements, and toiletries that Caleb had never known existed.

“Hm?” Molly asked, from the bathroom. He had sequestered himself in there with a teal pouch as large as his head, and Caleb was both curious and oddly fearful of finding out what was happening in there.

“I said thank you,” he repeated. “For taking care of the hotel, and the taxi, and the Border Patrol. I am not the easiest at talking, and least of all in conversations with strangers, but—”

Molly had emerged from the bathroom, stunning in whatever makeup magicks he had just performed: his eyes lined with kohl, his skin nearly glowing, and a light hint of darker purple on his lips. He looked beautiful; not quite as makeup-less as he had been on the train, but a good deal less so when he was on the stage. “Repeat this? I wasn’t paying attention.”

Caleb merely stared at him, his mouth agape, before the processes whirred in his brain. “I, I, um. I wanted to thank you,” he said, looking at his shoes, which were still gleamingly beautiful but less likely to dazzle him. “For taking care of the talking with other people.”

“Oh you’re quite welcome,” he said cheerily, and he shifted on his feet. “Is there something wrong with my shoes?”

“No, they’re good, I just.”

“Something wrong with my face, then, Caleb?”

“No, nothing at all—you’re too beautiful to look at,” he blurted out. “It’s like looking at the sun, sometimes, you’re too much, too beautiful to look at before I become overwhelmed.”

Molly said nothing besides, “Oh.” And then, “Do you not like to look at me, then?”

“No, I love looking at you—” he said, jerking his head up to see Molly frowning, his eyebrows furrowed together. Shit. He had made everything wrong. “No, you’re beautiful and I wouldn’t want you to stop, but I feel less deserving of looking at you.”

“Caleb.”

“Because you’re so beautiful and me, I am just—”

“Caleb, stop this right now and look at me.”

Oh, he had started looking back at the floor, which was undoubtedly safe. Safe is good. Safe is not trouble, which he has just landed in. Taking a deep breath, he looked up to Molly’s face. Mollymauk stood, his face carefully neutral. “I usually like it,” he started, “when my lovers are willing to see my face. I’d prefer it if they were even excited to see my face, but that’s besides the point. Your not looking at my face because you think you’re not worthy? No, don’t do that to me. It makes me feel uncomfortable, like I have to be less myself to be with you. Please, stop this.”

Caleb nodded his head, still looking at Molly’s face. “Forgive me, Molly.”

He smiled, just slightly. “You’re forgiven, Caleb. I like you, I truly do, but your shame spiral gets out of hand.”

He flinched like he had been hit. “I’m aware,” he responded softly. Was it so obvious? Of course it was, he was able to see, everyone was able to see, this is why he’ll never be with someone, this was a bad idea, this is—

“Caleb, look at me.”

He looked, tears filling his eyes.

“Oh, shit,” he said, and sighed deeply. “No, no, come here,” and suddenly Caleb was being hugged by Mollymauk, his head tucked on Caleb’s shoulder, and it felt awkward to not hold him back—but when he did, Molly hummed in appreciation, and that felt much better, much nicer. They held each other for a few more moments before Molly pulled back first, and Caleb found himself missing the touch terribly. “Okay,” Molly said decisively. “I certainly fucked up by pointing it out so crudely. I promise not to do it again.”

Caleb nodded—good, yes, good—

“But I will, Mr. Widogast, I will pay attention and try to draw you out of it. It’s not good for you, Caleb.”

“ _Ja_ , I know.”

“Then why—” Molly stopped the sentence there, and shook his head. “Never mind. Forgive me. But Caleb?”

“Yes?”

“Please look at my face. Please tell me what you’re thinking when you do something I don’t understand. It’s frustrating as fuck.”

“ _Ja_ , okay.”

“Good. Now, what did you want to tell me?”

“Oh, I,” he flushed, and looked down at their shoes, before correcting himself and looking up to his face. “I wanted to thank you, for being good at talking to people. Without you I would have never found out where they could be, wouldn’t have gotten here as nicely or as quickly, and I wouldn’t have enjoyed myself as much.”

Molly grinned. “Well, it’s a good thing I still know how to speak French, then, isn’t it?” He winked. “Perhaps later we can experiment with the sort of kissing the French invented.”

Caleb flushed, looking back to Molly’s face, and moved, gently, to reach up with his lips. Molly smiled, and leaned the rest of the way to kiss him, just once, softly. “I’d do it more,” he murmured, “but I _just_ put this on, and I don’t believe you’d like the lipstick on you as much as you like it on me. However—” he started, then stopped, and smiled. “Never mind. We’ll talk about that another day. Until then, let’s go out to find Griffintown.”

They walked up and down Griffintown but couldn’t find any sign of Toya or Kylre. It was a small neighborhood, maybe ten or twelve blocks along the Canal de Lachine. It was a neighborhood of factory workers, of blue-collar families, of tenement buildings stacked high. It was very much like the madness of New York, but speaking French. “I don’t think we should look so obvious,” Caleb informed Molly, who was wearing a large gray overcoat, hiding his tail, and a low brimmed hat hiding most of his horns. “Did you ever talk to Kylre? You know what he looks like, right?”

“I do,” Molly said. “We spoke a few times, but he was always too focused on Toya.” He ended this bitterly, clearly angry.

“Do you think he’d recognize you?”

“Well, I have one of those faces,” he reasoned. “It’s possible.”

“Alright. We’ve walked everywhere that Griffintown seems to be, let’s find this Notre Dame church.”

The church was glorious and impressive, its spires reaching into the sky. The road splitting Griffintown from the neighboring Little Burgundy district in fact was called the Rue de Notre-Dame Ouest, leading to the l’église Notre-Dame. Caleb was not interested in the church itself, but Mollymauk wanted to look inside, and so they did. No service was happening, so Molly took a turn around the blue and golden church, pausing to genuflect awkwardly in front of the large altar in front. Caleb sat in a pew and watched the praying worshippers and the occasional priest or other holy men going along their duties.

Without a description to go off of, Caleb was unable to really ask around about Kylre’s mother; and even if she was a frequent parishioner, the people he asked might not know her name or address. It was possible that someone knew something, but he had too many loose ends. Kylre might not even _be_ in the city, but instead some other place, and who knows how they would get to Toya now.

Molly slid into the wooden pew next to him, admiring the artwork and architecture. “Beautiful church,” he said cheerfully. “Did you find anything good?”

“No, we have too many loose ends. I have a plan, but I think we need to iron some things out. There are a _lot_ of chances that we’re taking, here.”

Above them, a loud bell tolled, and Caleb looked at his watch. It was nearly six o’clock—the bell was wrong.

“Fuck, I’m starving,” Molly said, and then clapped his hand over his mouth as a parishioner glared at him. “Shit, sorry. _Pardonne-moi_ ,” he offered to the parishioner, and bit his lip in trying not to giggle. “Let’s get out of here, I think I’ve offended enough people today.”

They chose a place nearer to downtown, a few blocks away, and Mollymauk helped Caleb order his meal by translating the menu. “It’s on me,” Molly said conversationally to Caleb. “Sure we’re on a grand chase to find a kidnapped girl, but we might as well enjoy ourselves!”

Caleb looked at him over the bread bowl they had been offered. There was a tightness around his mouth, a clench in his jaw. “You’re more worried than that,” he said.

“Fuck, Caleb, of course I’m worried,” he hissed. “Who wouldn’t be? Some sicko has my family’s girl, and we don’t know if he’s got her—”

He didn’t need to finish. Caleb knew it all as well. “We’ll find her.” He said. “If we can’t find her by Sunday, we will go to the police here, we will get their help.”

Mollymauk sighed, and nodded. “I can’t help but be worried,” he admitted. “It’s fun being with you, of course, but—”

“No need to apologize, Molly, you wouldn’t be yourself if you didn’t care about your family.”

Molly hesitated, then a smile flickered on. “You’re quite astute, Caleb. And I think that’s the first time you’ve called me Molly unbidden.”

“Is that okay?” Caleb asked. “Molly?”

“Very,” he said, and he winked before licking his lips deliberately.

“Lucien?” Someone approached the table they were seated at. A black Tabaxi with a wide smile looked at Mollymauk. “Lucien, is that you?”


	9. Cell Block Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb and Molly finally find and save Toya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, this is worth TWO chapters, and a LOT of heavy shit happens. Just for a warning: 
> 
> -one breakup and makeup scene  
> -at least two panic attacks (including vomit)  
> -Toya's part, in which she immediately traumatized by what happened to Kylre  
> -Kylre dies very violently  
> -A light dash of Caleb's backstory which will happen next chapter.  
> -OH and a suicidal character (it's Caleb, but he doesn't do anything, merely thinks about it)
> 
> And I know my detective work is on par with B99 but listen. I'm not very good at mysteries. Just let me write about this. 
> 
> Also, if you need more tags, do let me know, on comments or at thesolutionismoredragons on tumblr.

  


“How did you do it?” The Tabaxi asked. She wore a long shapeless olive green dress with a wide white collar, with large buttons at her throat, and a clouche, a black felt bell-shaped hat with a red rose at her pointed ear, that hid half her face. She had pulled up a chair and sat next to him, staring at him with both amazement and something akin to worship. “How did you escape _Le Requin_?”

Molly felt as shocked as Caleb looked, but he had the training of the stage, of giving people what they want, even when you have _no clue_ what they’re talking about. “Well, you know me, never show the tricks of the trade if you can help it,” he said. “And it was much too dangerous, I barely made it alive as it is, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“No, no one dances with _Le Requin_ and lives to tell about it—except for you, of course, Lucien!” She beamed, breathless with wonder. She looked him up and down. “Look at you, you’ve changed so much, is this because you had to escape him and now you’re hiding from him?”

“Oh, yes, exactly, but shh,” he put a finger up to his lips. “Let’s keep it down, I really don’t want him knowing I’m tramping around here.”

“What, in Montreal? They say he’s gone to New York. The rumor is that he’s found more fishes down there.”

Somehow, he didn’t think they were talking about actual fish. “Has he now? Well then, we should be safe.”

“Who is in New York?” Caleb asked. His Detective Look, the one that made him narrow his eyes and focus in on what was happening, was going strong. It was quite nice to look at, that focus, that intensity.  “ _Le Requin_?”

“The Shark,” the Tabaxi breathed, looking around to see if anyone had heard her. “They say he eats men whole, you never find their bodies again after they’ve seen him.” She looked at him curiously. “Who are—“

“Ah, where are my manners, this is Jakob, uh, Jakob Brötchen,” Mollymauk spat out, using the small amount of vocabulary he had armed himself with, and looking at the bread basket between the two men. “He’s an investigator—no, no, he’s good, he’s clean, well, he’s not _clean,_ but he’s not with the cops,” he stammered when she looked alarmed at him.

She looked at him suspiciously still, but nodded at Molly. “If you trust him, then I trust him. My name’s Cree Charbonnier,” she said, and turned back to Molly. “Lucien, what are you doing here? What _happened_?” She leaned in closer, hope and fear both in her eyes. “Did it work?”

“W-well, we’re still trying to figure that out—” Molly said, floundering.

Caleb, surprisingly, came to his rescue. “I believe the New York police are looking into it now, they have much more resources at their fingertips than we do. We’re in Montreal because we are trying to find someone.”

Ms. Charbonnier inhaled sharply. “Are you trying to find the whole gang again?” She frowned. “Most of them are in jail after that night, you remember.”

Molly blinked. “Oh, shame that. Glad we both got away.” He took a large swallow of the wine he had ordered.

“Well, only just. I’ve been working with the police myself to get immunity, breaking up acquaintances of ours,” she said, giving him a _look_. “I can’t go more into it, but I would like to suggest that if you plan on keeping up with contacts here, _don’t_.” Her tone grew intense, and her expression was pleading—she really cared for him, or at least the Lucien she thought he was.

“I wasn’t playing to, I’ve fallen out of the game altogether,” he said smoothly, and patted her paw. “But please, tell me—how have you been, Ms. Charbonnier?”

She smiled weakly. “Well, I’m constantly tailed by police and breaking into old friends’ gangs, so really, I could be better. But that is neither here nor there—should I even be talking to you?” She asked and looked around the restaurant and leaned in closer to Molly, a hand cupping her mouth so people behind them wouldn’t be able to see. “Who are you looking for? Are you looking for _Le Requin’_ s family? You mentioned this once before, but then you said you knew something _better_ , you had that letter, you remember? The one with the seal?”

“I—”

“We’re looking for a little girl,” Caleb said, and Ms. Charbonnier and Molly both looked at him. His face was grave as always, but his focused was latched on her. “You work with the police department? We can perhaps use your help if my hunch is incorrect.”

“What little girl?” Miss Charbonnier turned to face him now, her face clearly confused, and looked over to Molly. “Your…?”

“No, no, a friend of mine, well, we’re a big circus of a family, really, but yes, we’re looking for my friends’ little girl.”

“We came from America so we know it would be complicated—” Caleb hazarded, and seeing Ms. Charbonnier wince he sighed. “Yes, that is what we figured.”

“But this sounds like something the actual police could help with,” she replied cautiously.

“We have a few good leads,” Caleb informed her. Molly stared at him. They had _one_ lead, and it wasn’t the most solid of them. “But we could use your help, if you don’t mind.”

“If I can I will,” she said. “Tell me everything.”

“Our friends’ daughter was stolen,” Caleb began, “from their club in New York—”

“A girl at a club! What kind—”

“She’s very well taken care of, she’s _usually_ in no danger—” Molly interjected in the Fletching and Moondrop’s defense. “But our booze guy stole her, and we think he’s here in Montreal.”

“We found his former employer who said he was thinking about Montreal, that his mother lives here and goes to the Notre-Dame church.”

“Which one?”

Caleb’s mouth dropped open, and then snapped shut. “There’s. More than two?”

“ _Oui_ , there’s the _Chapelle Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours_ , but this is more of a smaller chapel, yes? The Notre-Dame church is much bigger, it’s more likely that his mother goes to that one.”

“Is there any way we can ask around?” Caleb asked. “Churches typically do registries, _ja_?”

She nodded, smiling. “Both of them do, I have attended both churches for other work before. Do you have a name for these people?”

Caleb looked to Molly, who shook his head. “Except the name Kylre, which could be a ruse for all we know.”

Ms. Charbonnier pursed her lips. “Well this is not ideal, Lucien.”

Mollymauk forgot who she was talking to, until he shook his head. _Oh, right. That’s me._ “No, it’s not. This is where we’re stuck—we know she lives in Griffintown, so we were thinking about going door to door—”

“That doesn’t work out as well as you would think,” Caleb said. “Sometimes, yes, but other cases, the neighbors could tell Kylre and his mother and they could flee the city.”

“Perhaps we should ask the priest? Or the church goers? People do talk, especially when a woman’s son comes back home,” Ms. Charbonnier offered. “I could go with you, ask around?”

Caleb and Molly shared a look, both weighing the options. Caleb gave the smallest nod a human head could make, and Molly reciprocated. “That would be lovely, Ms. Charbonnier.”

“Please, call me Cree like you used to,” she said, laying a paw on his hand. Oh. _Oh._ They definitely danced the bedsheet tango. “And of course, anything for you, Lucien.”

They made plans to attend both church services tomorrow, and ask after newcomers to the church, and she had left them, biding them a good day and a good hunt tomorrow. Both Caleb and Molly stood up as she did, bowing as she left, and once they sat back down, Caleb was staring at him.

“What? We got what we wanted, a better way of finding Toya—”

“Lucien?” Caleb asked, looking betrayed, or hurt, or some sort of unpleasant feeling that made the man hunch over slightly. “Are you using a fake name? I don’t—”

“My name is Mollymauk Tealeaf, Caleb Widogast, I promise you that.” He felt snappy, on his guard, raw and didn’t _like_ it, he had come so _far_ from his lost years. “I’m Mollymauk, Caleb, don’t you _dare_ say that name again.”

Caleb opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, watching him with hooded eyes, and gods, this was _the worst_ , he had worked so hard to get him to fucking _go on a date_ with him and now? That trust, gone. Finally he licked his lips and said, “Alright. I won’t. But she absolutely knew you to be Lu—that name.”

“She must have gotten me confused with someone else, I have one of those faces—”

“She knew you, Mollymauk,” he replied. “Knew you like I know you.”

“Probably,” he snapped. “Probably a former lover, wouldn’t that be grand.”

People were staring at them now, and Caleb absolutely noticed, was flushing, looking like he’d rather the world swallow him up and die right there. “Let’s,” Molly said, struggling to get his voice under control. “Let’s talk about this in the hotel.”

Caleb’s gaze narrowed in on him, making him feel like a prey about to be attacked, and that wasn’t fair, he was just using his Detective Look, he really _couldn’t_ blame him, except he did. “All of it?”

“All of it,” he promised.

Dinner, and the walk to the hotel, was silent from that point. Once inside the hotel room, Mollymauk tensed, watching for Caleb’s reactions, expecting him to yell, expecting him to be angry, to go into a shame spiral, expected him to break up with him _immediately_ , but instead Caleb merely sat on the far twin bed, taking off his boots and tucking them just to the side of the frame, and peeled off his socks and tucked them in his shoes, and then shrugged off his coat, revealing his usual worn gray shirt and gray slacks. He looked tired, but looked at him expectantly. “I am not angry,” he started off. “At least, I’m not at the moment, but I am sure you have your reasons for being called… not Mollymauk.”

“I don’t, though.” Molly shoved off his boots impatiently, took off his hat and coat. “That’s not my _name_.” He sat down on the opposite bed, across from Caleb, who was watching him. “Do you want to know what happened? I woke up with a fucking bloody cut on my head, knowing absolutely _nothing_ of who I was, who I am. For all intents and purposes, I was alive for the first time, and I was lying in a dirty alley in Toronto, with dead people with similar cuts, police sirens going, and all I really knew was to get out, walk away from these strange dead people and get out of the vicinity. It was like being an animal, no other thoughts about what to do but stay alive.”

He had rattled through the streets of Toronto, eyes wide and wild, running at loud sounds and men shouting. Someone had chased him, a lot of someones, but he didn’t know why, only that he was running, escaping, fleeing. An empty husk of a man, no more thought than a cornered wolf.

“Orna and Gustav found me, took me in, forged papers for me, or maybe just bribed someone really well to get us good ones, I’ve never really found out. Took me and Toya to New York, tried to keep me safe. All I had was one word—Empty.”

Caleb was watching him, look intense but caring. “How long ago?”

“Nearly four years,” he said, and shook his head. “My speech came back quickly, even though I had _nothing_ , no sense of who I really was.” He had magpied his entire personality—New York was _big_ and _fabulous_ and when he sang along the radio in the Fletching and Moondrop’s small kitchen, he stole the sound of those singers. Stole every bright and colorful thing he had seen, liked it and stole it, cobbling together a personality, a _history_ that was never there. “Gustav named me, essentially raised me for the first year, relearning and reteaching myself how to live, what life is _like_. It’s like—have you ever lost the name of something?”

“No,” Caleb replied. “I remember everything.”

“Well it’s like, it’s like remembering a dream. You had it, just when you wake up, and then it’s gone when you start your day. Except there _was_ nothing else—just dreams that faded as soon as you look at them. That was my _entire_ life—knowing what things were, but the word never coming to you.”

“You remember nothing?”

He took a deep breath. “Nothing. Some smells, some sights, but gods they make me sick when I do. Lucien, or whatever his name is, is _gone_. It’s like stealing someone else’s memories, it’s not something I _ever, ever_ want to do. Today at the church—I knew how to genuflect. And I know the word for it, that’s a miracle and a half. But since I’ve been alive, or at least since it’s been _me,_ I’ve never been to a church! I didn’t even know I knew anything about Catholicism!”

“No,” he shouted, standing up, looking down at Caleb. “I don’t give a shit about what the other guy did when he was in my body, I’m here now and I don’t want anything to do with that rat bastard!”

Caleb was flinching, curling in on himself as he yelled, making Molly feel like a damned shithole of a man. He sunk back down on his bed, and said softly, “I’m sorry, Caleb, for yelling.”

The other man was unwinding, inch by inch, but he didn’t look at Molly at all as he frowned, instead looking at his own knees. “I merely wanted to help you if you wanted,” he muttered. “I am an investigator.”

“Under no circumstance do I want you mucking around in this Lucien’s history. I am not interested, and for me, that person, whoever he was, is dead, and that’s all that matters now.” He hissed, “I won’t be in debt over someone else’s past.”

Caleb shook his head. “This is fair,” he replied quietly, and reached down, reaching into his shoes for his socks, and began to pull them on again.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going for a walk,” he said, every syllable terse.

“What, are you breaking up with me?” He meant to sound angry, derisive, but instead he felt whiny, felt wronged, wanted this whole fucking day over again.

“No. I am going on a walk because I am upset that you screamed at me.” He opened up his shoes, slid his feet inside, and began lacing them. “I hope this is better communication for you?”

“No, wait, Caleb—” he reached out, not thinking and Caleb jumped like he was shot, his eyes wild with panic.

“Shit, sorry, no touching. I forgot,” he said, but gods the look he had given him, like he was expecting a beating out of nowhere.

Caleb gathered himself, took a deep breath, and looked Molly in the eyes. “Mollymauk. Tealeaf. That is your name, it will not ever be not your name, and I do not doubt you and your past. If you do not wish to find out more about this Lucien, then so be it. But I am not going to be dragged around because you are angry. I do not think it is a good idea for us to date any longer. But we have this room for now, and tomorrow I will rent another room, and we will find Toya and part on at least decent terms.” He stood up, collected his coat and hat, and left without another word.

Well, he certainly fucked that up. He felt feral, fiercely defending his hollow past that he had collected and earned and it was a pile of shit but it was _his_ pile of shit, and now he had let himself get all interested in Caleb and now he was gone from him. He was _furious_ , he was sick of himself, he fucking was _done_.

Prohibition was over in Quebec, and there was a lovely-looking bar in the hotel restaurant, and he planned on being well and truly plastered, and if he could someone to share in an alcohol-fueled decision with him, so be it.

He was a free man now, even if he was broken to bits and hollow on the inside.

* * *

 

Caleb walked a block before he ducked into an alleyway and leaned against the brick wall, gasping for breath, covering his face with his hands. Everything _hurt_ inside—his heart especially. He felt sore and sad and bitterly vindicated. He had _known_ this was a bad idea to start with, flirting with the handsome jazz singer, but Caleb had thought he was so kind, so respectful. But his anger, it burned, and Caleb had met too many angry people to want to go close to anyone like that ever again. He was _furious,_ and he had grabbed at Caleb, who felt his stomach rise with the memories of General Ikithon grabbing at him, torturing him, kicking him and training him to toughen up. He was always so _angry_ , just like Mollymauk.

But Mollymauk had realized what he had done, and apologized, which Ikithon had never done. Ever.

Caleb sobbed against the wall as quietly as he could, hoping that the sounds of the Friday night crowd would drown it out.

He returned to the hotel lobby, avoiding stares or looks by looking as invisible as he possibly could—a shapeless gray coat like that did well to do so—and was halfway up the stairs when he heard a familiar Irish lilt coming from the bar. He froze with one foot already on the step ahead, and considered. He sounded like he was having a fine time, and that hurt Caleb more, to see him so easily discarded.

So much for having something special.

He went the rest of the way, arriving to their lonely room. He washed his face of the tears, wanting the sticky stinging off, and sat on his bed. He tried reading, but _Ulysses_ was still incomprehensible as before, and he could almost hear Molly’s laughter from two stories up, ringing out. He sighed, and closed the book, and laid flat, his boots hanging off the bed. He was sticky and restless and angry and sad, and suddenly booze sounded like a _terrific_ way of easing that. Isn’t that what people do in books? In moving pictures? In songs? Certainly in songs. When your heart breaks, you turn to drinking.

Let Molly have his fun. He was going to nurse a beer or two or ten and feel that nice floaty numbing sensation. Consequences be damned. Isn’t that how all the book detectives worked anyways? Always hungover.

Once he got to the bar, though, he found that while it was busy, Mollymauk was nursing a whiskey by himself at a bar, occasionally looking over to a group of men chatting, but he was certainly alone, and looked about as bad as he felt. His tail drooped, even, which was something that Caleb wasn’t even aware could happen.

Just like that, all the anger, the fury that had bled out of him, leaving him feeling tired. Oh, the pain was still there, but it was all soft, something to be shared now, not something to be thrown at someone.

“Anyone sitting here?” He asked Molly, nodding to the empty barstool.

The Tiefling looked surprised, but nodded. “Be my guest.”

“Thank you,” he said, and slid in next to him, his arm not quite touching Molly’s. When the bartender showed up, a white Dragonborn, he said, “One beer please, and whatever my friend here is having. For him.”

Molly frowned, but shook his head. “One’s doing just fine for me, actually, Wessik, thanks.”

“Anytime,” he said, and poured Caleb’s beer with practiced efficiency and slid it to him, a bit of foam slopping over the side.

“Thank you,” Caleb said, and then they sat in silence.

Luckily for Caleb, who didn’t know what to say, Mollymauk was the first to broach it. “Caleb, I just wanted to say I’m sorry, I know you have your issues with touching, and I really shouldn’t have done that when I was angry, and also I’m sorry that I was angry,” he spat out, still not looking him in the face but absolutely looking at his hands.

“You are forgiven, Mollymauk,” he replied. “I understand now that this is a fraught subject for you, and if I had known, before, I would have been kinder.”

“No, no, stop that Caleb,” he said, and finally angled towards him, his position open towards him. “You did nothing wrong. I fucked up because I was angry. And now…” he waved the whiskey glass around, swirling it. “Now whatever we had built together is in shatters.”

Caleb turned to him as well, looking at his beautiful face. “No, it’s not,” he said slowly. “I won’t deny that I was angry, and hurt, and scared—but Mollymauk, this had nothing to do with your past, and everything to do with you grabbing me.” He closed his eyes, shuddering. “I have had a lot of loud, angry men grab at me.” He spoke carefully, trying to impart this to impress on him: don’t do this _again_. “Every time, I have been hurt, and I do not want it,” he said, and suddenly he was crying again. Molly shifted towards him, but didn’t touch him, and Caleb’s heart settled. He did understand, then.

“Caleb, I’m so fucking sorry,” he murmured. “If I had known—gods, Caleb, I’m so sorry.”

He wiped the swelling tears away quickly with the butt of his hand, ignoring the looks he was sure he was getting, instead looking at him. “Never do that to me again, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

“Never.” Molly shook his head. He looked devastated—on Caleb’s behalf? “Never, in a million years, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Then I forgive you, Mr. Tealeaf,” he said, and tried for a smile, even though it was small and wavery. “And I am satisfied. I will not pester you more with questions of your past.”

“Thank you, Caleb,” he replied. The moment hung for longer than usual, when Molly asked, “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Are we… do you still want to do this thing?” He gestured between the two of them.

Caleb parsed through what he thought. He wanted the man, he wanted to kiss him and go on dates, and allow himself to be charmed, but on the other hand, they argued, big, small, every kind of argument. “I would like to,” he said, picking out words like he was weeding his Mutti’s garden. “I would, but I think we need to know what rules we need.”

“Usually, I’m not much of a rules guy,” he said airly, “but for the sake of you, and us? Sure.”

“Don’t hit me,” Caleb said, holding up a finger. “Don’t yell at me.” Two fingers. “Don’t touch me before telling me.” Three. “And I’m going to have shame spirals, as you called them, I’ve tried to think my way through them but they’re always terrible, I can’t get rid of them, but please—don’t make fun of me for them.”

Molly was nodding at each point. “Perfectly understandable. I will not do any of these. Now for mine,” he said, holding up one finger of his own. “Don’t call me Lucien, or think of me as him but different, or any of that shit.” Two fingers. “Try to talk to me, please.” He paused, and shrugged. “I think that’s it.”

“Then it’s an agreement?” Caleb held out his hand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had such a rigorous contract for a courting before, but yes, it’s an agreement,” Molly said, and they shook on it.

They finished up their beers in awkward, but mostly companionable silence, and then went to bed, to get ready for the next morning.

* * *

 

Mollymauk had been dreaming _very_ nice dreams of Caleb indeed, of the wizard snuggling into him and kissing him and smiling openly (but nothing else, which was odd, but his heart felt so _light_ just looking at him smiling in the sunshine), when a loud rap of knuckles on wood right by his ear shocked him awake.

“ _Hello sleepyhead_ ,” Caleb said, standing beside his bed, already dressed. “You’ve overslept. We have a lot to do today, so let’s go get ready.”

Molly groaned. Of all the people he could have fallen in love with, it was a fucking morning person.

The thought made him jolt up, staring at Caleb. Oh fuck. Was he in love? Was love being hurt when you hurt someone you cared about, and wanting to fix it better, everything and anything that had ever made him sad? Was love feeling light and warm in your heart?

“Oh fuck me,” he said, rubbing his face.

“Not right now,” Caleb said nonchalantly. “We have to find and save Toya.”

“Shit, you’re right,” he mumbled, and swung his legs out. “Okay, let me get ready. I’ll be church ready in about fifteen minutes.”

Caleb nodded, and grabbed a thick book, and said, “I’ll wait for you in the restaurant downstairs,” before heading out.

Mollymauk, the rake of New York City? In love?

He did his makeup and outfit half in a daze, thinking about it. Perhaps? Or perhaps he was just in love with love. He had had many lovers since Becoming Mollymauk (about three years ago, was it so short?) but _love_ was another beast altogether, isn’t it? He had felt passion, he had felt jealousy, he had felt flirtation and lust and crushes. But love? Protectiveness? Soft feelings? These were new. And everything was still in the air, making him feel uncomfortable, like a shirt that had gotten sticky with milk and dried weirdly.

He wore a _very_ reasonable pair of black slacks with a black jacket, a white collared shirt peeking on top, and with just enough makeup to look “natural” but not as much as he would have preferred for the stage. When he came down for breakfast, however, Caleb glanced up from his book and nearly choked on his coffee. Mollymauk _preened_. “Well, that was a standing ovation if I’ve ever heard one,” he said, sipping another coffee that had been left for him. “You like?”

“You’re very handsome,” Caleb said, his voice hoarse.

“Good. I want to impress the fathers. And the mothers,” he added thoughtfully.

“And the unwed maidens?” Caleb asked.

“No, I have one of those already, he’s quite cute,” he flirted back, and then winced.

But Caleb, bless him and his beautiful lovely face, just smiled, gently, and replied, “Well then, don’t try to charm too many people, or he’ll become quite sad.”

“Of course not, Caleb,” he replied, and they shared a look—soft, sweet smiles—before returning to their breakfasts.

Ms. Cree Charbonnier met them at the hotel lobby, looking respectable in an olive green dress with a black hat, and they went over the rules They began the day at the Notre-Dame church, the big one, the one that made Molly feel strange, make him feel like he had been there before. It felt odd, like wearing someone else’s shoes, but he was, strangely, alright with it. There was a nine o’clock mass, and Caleb sat next to him in the back pew, watching everyone and anyone with that Detective Look in his eyes. Molly nudged him at one point and whispered in his ear, “ _Stop looking so obvious about being a detective,_ ” and Caleb had stopped, but not before a few of the older women near him shushed him like they were bored children instead of grown men.

Afterwards, as most of the parishioners left the church, there were some scattered older couples gossiping merrily in the pews, and more families (younger, with very bored children) spilling from the lobby to the sidewalk outside, a few children running in the park just across the street. These were the people who would know _everything_ about _everyone’s_ business. Mollymauk set off, first speaking to the older ladies in front of them, while Ms. Charbonnier excused herself and asked questions of the priest. Caleb sat next to him, listening intently even though he certainly had no clue what was happening.

“Pardon me, _mademoiselles_ ,” he began, and smiled his most innocent smile. “I am looking for a friend of mine, but I lost him getting here, and I don’t know anything about his family—but he mentioned his mother going to church here, and I was hoping you might know something?”

“What are you, American?” One of them asked sharply. “We haven’t been introduced.”

“Ah, but _mademoiselle_ , I am merely lost and wanting so dearly to find my friend—would you happen to know anything about a son coming back from New York, maybe with a young daughter? My friend, he is a good man, but a bit of an idiot, he never told me his address.”

The other woman looked interested in this. “A daughter? From New York?” She looked positively gleeful, really. “A natural born daughter from _New York_?”

Oh, fuck it. “Yes, it’s true,” he said sadly. “He and her mother never married, it was against her father’s wishes, but they were so in love, and the poor girl, she died in childbirth, and it took him years to get the money to bring her up to his mama, so she could have a proper family, at least, and I was going with to help with expenses, letters of recommendation, that sort of thing,” he waved his hand like he was a lord in some romantic novel, someone who could save the day if only through the massive amounts of riches he possessed. “But my friend, he never left me his mother’s address. And you fine ladies, you must know everyone’s comings and goings, yes?”

The women looked at him, then at each other. “No one comes to mind,” the first one said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Ah, that’s a shame. I’ll have to find someone who would know _everyone_ in the community.”

“Perhaps the priest would know,” the second woman added. “But I thought I heard Julienne Giraud say that her son was coming back to Father Phillips?”

“Coming back from _Paris_ , Marie-Christine. And the man has a _wife_.” She turned to Molly. “Bernadette Renault has a son who came home, but he does nothing but drink.”

“No, you’re thinking of Juliette Portier! Her son made it back from the War!”

And they went back and forth, arguing about mothers whose wayward sons had come back, and then discussing the wayward sons themselves, and mentioning that _those_ rarely came to church either, not even for the Sunday mass, which is the holiest of masses, and it was a good five minutes before Mollymauk made a mostly graceful exit and scooted awkwardly out of the pew.

“Well? What did you find out? You were speaking with them for a long time,” Caleb said. “Did we find Kylre?”

“No, but I did learn that there was a gentleman who had multiple wives in one go, but kept losing them and just married another like buying a new pipe every you lost one.” He shook his head. “Perhaps Ms. Charbonnier would know more, priests typically know _everyone_. And their sins.” He waggled his eyebrows to Caleb, who was looking thoughtful about this.

“Can we ask about the sins?” He wondered.

“No! You can’t! It’s between you, the priest, and _God_.”

“Damn. That would be good to know for future reference. But yes, perhaps we will know more from the priest.”

Ms. Charbonnier was still speaking to the priest, dressed in his long solemn black robe, an earnest-looking half-Elf who was listening intently, and when Molly and Caleb approached Cree introduced them. “Ah! Father Jacques, these are the detectives I told you about.”

“Ah, my friend here is the detective, Father, I’m just the good looking one,” Mollymauk replied.

The priest made a small laugh, and then told Caleb in French, “I’ll answer what I can, sir, your friend here told me of the severity.”

“Forgive me, Priest, but I don’t speak French,” Caleb said, mumbling a little.

The priest hummed in interest, and then repeated the statement in English. “I’ll help where I can, but even what your friend has told me has been very little.”

“Yes, we know,” Caleb replied, “but it is all we have. Do you know of a woman whose son returned from New York with a girl child?”

“I’m afraid this doesn’t ring a bell for me,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m very busy, and don’t remember everyone’s names.”

“Does the name Kylre mean something to you?” Mollymauk asked.

He looked surprised. “Why, yes, I have a parishioner with that name. Marie-Louise Kylre, she’s a widow, does some seamstress work, I believe.” His brow furrowed. “I hadn’t realized she had a son.”

“He’s not exactly a favorable son,” Caleb replied. “He did kidnap a girl, after all. Do you know where she lives?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t. But we do have a registry, if that helps?”

The registry was in the back of the church, into another building altogether, in the priest’s office. “It is a bit of a trek, forgive me,” he said, and then apologized again when they entered, the desk overflowing with papers. “Preparing tomorrow’s sermon is taking a while.”

“It’s quite good, Father, I loved the sermon today,” Ms. Charbonnier replied politely, while Caleb quickly scanned through the giant tome of families, addresses, and birthdays. It was, thank the gods, alphabetized, and they found Marie-Louise Kylre, her son Baptiste Kylre, and that they lived at 1406 Rue Barré.

“This is good,” Caleb said, sounding invigorated now. “This is _very_ good. Thank you, Father.”

“You’re quite welcome. You’re with the police, right?”

They looked at each other. “I am,” Ms. Charbonnier replied.

“Then I hope you will be kind to him. I am sure that Baptiste Kylre had done nothing too wrong, and that he had the best intentions. His mother is a good woman.”

“We will be as kind as we can,” Mollymauk answered. “As the situation allows.”

Caleb’s expression was dark, but he nodded in agreement. “Thank you again,” he said simply, and walked out in a brisk pace. Mollymauk and Ms. Charbonnier followed him, and once they were out into the gray morning light, Caleb said, over his shoulder, “Ms. Charbonnier, you might want to go to the police. Tell them to meet us at 1406 Rue Barré, and the situation.”

“Right,” she said, and sprinted away in her pair of sensible brown Mary-Janes.

“Caleb, we can’t just go in and _shoot_ him,” Mollymauk argued, keeping pace with him as they walked quickly to Griffintown.

“No, but we can scare him. We don’t have any special permission for this, and I _very_ much doubt that the police will look kindly on what will seem like another kidnapping, so we will want to try to get him to let her go, or to bring Toya to us, and hope for the best.”

Molly panted, “That’s a _terrible_ plan.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

1406 Rue Barré was a squat brownstone building, like many tiles of dominoes lined next to each other, much like the Brooklyn homes Mollymauk had admired so greatly. “Do you have a gun, Mollymauk?” Caleb asked quietly, looking up to the home.

“Yes, but don’t ask me like that in the _middle of the street_.” He smiled hugely at a couple walking past with a baby pram. “Hello there, just seeing an old friend.”

Caleb stretched his fingers, breathing heavily before walking up the stairs and knocking.

No one came.

Caleb knocked once more, this time calling out, “Mr. Baptiste Kylre, we would like to speak with you!”

Nothing happened. Both Molly and Caleb leaned against the door, trying to hear any movement inside, but nothing was there.

“He could be hiding in there with her,” Caleb murmured. _“Scheisse.”_

“Shit,” Molly echoed, but when someone _ahem_ ed behind them they both jumped. A young man crossed his arms and stared at them.

“Can I _help you_?” He asked, pointedly.

“Ah, yes, good, do you know these people here?” Caleb asked. “We’re friends, we’ve come a very long way to speak with Baptiste Kylre.”

He looked suspicious, and Mollymauk chimed in. “We’re friends from New York, he asked us to come by, but it doesn’t sound like he’s here right now? Did they go out to eat, or go shopping?”

The kid glared at him. He was no more than 17, really, a pale ginger gangly thing who was trying his best to stand up to what appeared to be neighborhood bullies. And really, it was kind of the truth. “I’m not telling you. I’m calling the police.”

“We’re here to congratulate him on his new child,” he tried again.

Caleb elbowed him in the ribs, hard, and nodded his chin to the left. “Is that Kylre?”

Molly turned and looked. Indeed, there was Kylre, the ugliest fucker to grace the planet, holding hands with Toya and talking cheerfully with an older woman beside him. They were eating candied apples, like a normal family outing.

“That’s him,” he said, and thank the gods, Toya was alive and well. He felt a wave of relief wash over him. Now they just needed to convince the man to hand over the girl, and it would all be fine.

Except the moment Kylre saw Mollymauk, he tore the candy apple from her hand, dropped his own, and picked her up bodily and _sprinted_ back where they had just came.

* * *

 

Once Kylre had picked up Toya and ran, Caleb and Mollymauk sprinted down the steps and off after Kylre, pushing past the kid. His mother yelled at them as they ran past her, but the chase was on. This was what Caleb had worried about, this was the only part of his plan that was not going to work out very evenly. Okay, they’ll catch up, they’ll ask him to give back Toya, Toya would know Caleb and Molly, she’ll want to go home.

They could hear her screaming and crying as Kylre held her, carrying her over his shoulder as he turned left, and then right, about a half block away from them. “We can’t hit her,” he gasped at Mollymauk. “Don’t shoot!”

“Wasn’t planning to,” he gasped back, and then Kylre ducked into another alleyway, and just as they were turning a corner they saw him turned to them, eyes glowing red, and breathed deeply. Caleb felt himself losing energy, feeling wildly weak, but then he was turning and sprinting again, and this time Caleb focused, took a deep breath, and expelled a fireball towards his leg. His pantleg caught on fire, and he was dancing it off.

Police sirens sounded. Caleb did not pay this great mind, instead focusing on Kylre trying to pat out the fire. As they caught up to him, Caleb lagging behind Mollymauk, Kylre turned and _growled_ at them, holding Toya in his arms protectively. “You’re not taking my little girl!”

“She’s not your little girl!” Molly snapped back, and pointed his gun at him. “Drop her, Kylre.”

Toya shivered hard in the huge man’s arms, and she looked up at him with a worried expression, and then to Molly and Caleb, who she looked at with confusion.

“Toya, it’s me, Molly, it’s us, don’t you remember me,” Mollymauk was saying, as Caleb tried to figure out what next to do. “Remember me singing in your kitchen, remember playing tag with each other in Grand Central, do you remember telling bedtime stories to me and Fluffy Lumpkins?” If they grabbed Toya, grabbed her and got away somehow, they would be okay, but how?

Toya furrowed her brow, a small nod and then a shake. “Molly?” She asked in a tiny voice.

“That’s right, love, you remember me, you love me,” Mollymauk was saying, and he was crying, Caleb could hear it in his voice, and then the sirens got closer and Kylre took off, startling both of them into running once more, but this time Toya was on Kylre’s shoulder again, a clear warning not to shoot.

They were running closer to the Canal de Lachine, Caleb realized, and there was a little bridge he could see, a small stretch of island before the next piece of land, he hadn’t studied that one so hard, he couldn’t remember, oh gods oh gods oh gods, this was not going well.

The sirens got closer, and he could hear yelling now, people chasing them, but they were so _close_.

Just at the canal, Kylre turned to what looked like a small shack right next to the water, some sort of fisherman’s hut, and ducked his bulk in. His head poked out from it and then there were shots, he was shooting them, and Molly cried out in pain or surprise, but he was shooting too, and oh this was a _nightmare_.

Caleb shook, but he gathered himself enough to send out another fireball, this time aimed right for Kylre’s head, but then he ducked, and _fuck._ It was a wood hut, more of a lean-to, really, but they heard Toya screaming, and Caleb’s heart nearly pounded right out of his chest.

“ _Toya!_ ” Mollymauk screamed, and sprinted onto the other side of the hut, and there was another shot and another yelp from Mollymauk and now, even more screaming from Toya, and while he was distracted, Caleb rushed in. The hut was three sides wood, open-faced to the canal, and Kylre was hissing like a wild animal, the gun to Toya’s head, and then he was pointing at Mollymauk, and there was fire was on Caleb’s hands and he was pushing Toya away and grabbing the man’s chest and pushing in, burning a hole right to his heart, there was screaming and blood and the smell of burned flesh and hair.

And when he was done, Kylre was slumped against the burning wall, a bullet in his stomach and a black burn straight to his heart.

Mollymauk had scooped her up, she was kicking and screaming the way only seven year olds could, and then they were surrounded by cops, every one of them with either guns or glowing hands. Toya was screaming, “Help him, _help him Mollymauk, help my daddy_!”

“Hands up where we can see them,” one of the cops shouted. “Put the girl down!”

Mollymauk did so, and Toya rushed to Kylre’s side, sobbing, and Mollymauk and Caleb were put in handcuffs.

* * *

 

Toya Fletching loved her Mama and Papa and her family and friends. She didn’t have _lots_ of friends her age, really only Nott, and even then, Nott sometimes acted more grownup than she did. But her family was her _family._ Beau was a weird silly sister, Yasha made amazing pancakes, Fjord had taught her juggling, and Jester had told her how good it feels when you kiss boys, and then told her to wait until she was older for the ‘other bits.’ (She asked every Saturday if she was old enough to know, but Jester shook her head, and instead told the _best_ stories.) Mr. Caleb was new, and quiet, but he made Molly smile, and that was good. Molly was her _best_ friend, her brother, sort of, because they had really grown up together, he danced with her in the kitchen while the radio played, he teased her and played tag and taught her how to tie her shoes and how to whistle and how to make a fist and how to do a cartwheel. When she was little he was a lot quieter, didn’t say much, and Mama told her it was because of a bad hit on his head, and Toya was _very_ careful about her head now, what if she forgot everything like Molly had?

She had sobbed when the police took her to the station, cried and hugged a ratty old teddy bear some other child left, it smelled like poop and sick, it smelled like other gross kids and she didn’t like it, but it was what she had when she told the nice man in the police uniform what happened, sitting on the bad stained couch that felt rough against her dress.

“My mama and papa, they run a restaurant,” she said. That was the lie they drilled in her. It was a restaurant, and she was good and didn’t break her promises. “Kylre came in and did a lot of stuff, gave us all the food and stuff so we can have food to serve to guests, and he was nice! He played ball with me sometimes or showed me pretty pictures and once he brought me a doll, it was so _so_ pretty! But he’s pretty lonely, he said he wanted a daughter just like me, and I told him that he had to have a wife first, and he looked sad and said yeah, I should. And then a few days ago he came up and he said, ‘Toya, I have something to share, but you have to keep it a secret.’ And I said ‘what’ and he said, ‘I found your passport! Look at you, you look like a baby!’ And I was! Mama said I was two when we moved to New York, and I looked so small in my picture.”

“What did Mr. Kylre do next?” The nice man asked.

“Well, he said some words, and I said what and he said ‘I’d really like you to come with me, to be my daughter!’ and I said ‘Okay’ because it felt good, it felt like I really was his daughter, I loved him so much.” She felt lost saying it, like it was something you said in a dream that makes good sense when you said it then but now in real life it sounds silly. “And so he took me north, and he showed me all of the pretty places on the way up, we took the train and it brought us here the next day, and I met his mama who asked me to call her Grandmama and I said yes because Kylre wanted me to say that, and it made sense when he did it, and he said those words to me last morning and this morning too. The ones I don’t know.”

“Did you feel really happy when he said the words?” The policeman asked. “Like you wanted to do what he said?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Like all I wanted to do was do what he said. He even made me eat _beets_ ,” she said, outraged, because adults like a joke like that, and she wanted to make him laugh.

He did a little laugh, kind of a snort. “Do you know what he did to you, Toya?”

“He Charmed me,” she said quietly. “Mama told me people can do that, I’m not magic, I don’t have that.”

He shook his head. “Not a lot of people do. Can you tell me, did he… hurt you in any way?”

“No, sir,” she said, shaking her head. “He was a perfect gentleman.” It was something Jester said about Fjord after one of their dates, something she didn’t quite understand but sorta did? “He didn’t hurt me at all.”

“Do you know your mama and papa’s names?”

She nodded. “I’m not a _child_ ,” she told him. “My mama’s name is Orna Fletching, and my papa’s name is Gustav Fletching.”

He wrote this down. “Okay. Now, the gentleman who tried to take you from Mr. Kylre, he and his partner were there. Did you recognize them?”

She nodded. “That’s Mr. Mollymauk, the Tiefling, he’s purple, he’s a good singer, I grew up with him, he’s like my brother.”

“And his friend?”

“Mr. Caleb Widogast,” she recited. “He’s a detective!”

The man nodded. “Do you know and trust them?”

She nodded. “Very much, sir.”

“Okay,” he said, and took a deep breath. “Now, do you know what phone number we can call to reach your mama and papa?”

She shook her head, but then stopped. “OH! Mama put it in my shoe!” She took off her shoe, and beneath the insole, there was a little piece of paper. “I go to school,” she announced. “And Mama put it here in case I ever got lost.”

“Perfect,” he said, and smiled. “Do you want to talk to your mama and papa on the phone?”

She wasn’t a _baby_ , but she felt herself starting to tear up. “Yes please,” she said, and by time she walked over to his desk to wait for him, felt herself sniffle and really start to cry, but the man gave her his light blue handkerchief while he called the number in the big telephone on his desk.

“Hello, is this the Fletching residence?” He paused, and she waited, hopeful, scared that her foot smudged the ink or that she had given him the wrong number. “Are you missing your daughter?” He asked, and the shrieks of her mother she could hear over the phone, like little teeny tiny people very far away. “She’s right here, ma’am, and she’s safe, she’s here in the Montreal Canada,” and there was more shrieking, and she felt herself wanna cry again, that awful sucking sensation in the back of her eyes and the stinging in her throat. “Would you like to talk to her?”

He handed the phone to her, and Mama was on the other side of the phone, crying, going, “my baby girl, my Toya, you’re okay? Oh, my baby, I was so scared, so worried, your Papa and I were so worried, oh my girl—”

“Yes Mama I’m okay, I’m fine,” she said, but what she really started doing was crying, wanting nothing more than to be held by her Mama’s warm arms, and she was wailing, “Mama! I love you!”

“I love you too baby girl, I love you so much, you’re safe now, Kylre won’t hurt you anymore,” and before she could argue Papa was on the phone, and he was also crying.

“Oh, my gem, my beautiful little girl, you’re safe and I love you so so much, I’m so relieved, I’ve been so worried—“

“I’m okay, Papa, I’m okay, I love you, I’m okay, Kylre didn’t hurt me, I love you Papa!” She cried back.

They went like this for a while, both of them talking into the phone with her, until finally Mama asked, “Baby, can you put the policeman on the phone?”

She cried the rest of her tears into the handkerchief, while the policeman said, “Yes, we do have them here. No, we weren’t sure what to do with them, one of them shot Kylre, so they have to be tried for murder—oh no,” he said, as Toya _wailed_ now, Kylre was dead? He was so nice to her, even though he had really sorta kinda really kidnapped her, but he didn’t deserve to _die_ , and now he was dead and it was all her fault. She sat on the stained brown couch and held the stinky bear and cried and cried and cried. The nice man plugged one ear with a finger and shouted back on the phone, “Yes, we’ll make sure she gets on the train back home! We’ll send one of our men over with her so she makes it back safe to your loving hands. Yes, I think she just misses you. No, I don’t think we can let Mr. Tealeaf or Mr. Widogast go! When we have exact details for you I will call you, but right now we’re just gathering information! Thank you!” And then he paused and held over the phone to her. “Your mother and father want to speak with you again.”

Even really strong tears can’t last forever, even though she had more sad in her heart, but when she walked back over to the phone she answered, “Hello?”

“Hi, baby, I’m so sorry I can’t be there to hold you, when you come home I’m going to hold you so tight,” her Mama was saying, and her Papa followed with, “Oh, Toya, we love you so so much.”

“I love you too,” she said, dully, all of the emotion gone, because she didn’t have any more in her, she was so tired. “I love you Mama and Papa.”

They said goodbyes, and then she handed the phone back to the man, who hung it up. “I’m sorry, Toya, I didn’t think to keep it from you. I should have been more responsible,” he said, looking down at her sadly.

“About what?” She sniffed.

“About what happened to Mr. Kylre,” he said. “I’m so sorry, but Mr. Kylre is dead.”

She sniffed, but the tears didn’t come. The sad was right in her heart, deep and hollow. “He didn’t deserve it.”

“I agree,” he said. “He didn’t deserve it. But I think this is what helped you also stop being Charmed by him, so as sad as it is, I think it was for the best. We will make sure that Mr. Tealeaf and Mr. Widogast are tried properly.”

“But they were just trying to save me!” She said. “They didn’t know that Mr. Kylre was just really nice!”

“They still killed him, even if they thought it was for good.” He sighed. “I’m afraid that’s the rules grownups have to play with.”

“That’s stupid,” she muttered.

“I know,” he replied, and sighed again. “Well. What will happen next is that you will go with two of our policemen back to New York City. I think the next train is tomorrow morning, so in the meantime, you’ll be staying with my wife and I, and our two doggies, until we can get you on the train.”

She sniffed. “Dogs?”

“Two _big, big_ Newfoundland puppies,” he said, holding out his hands to half his armspan. “They’re about your size and they love running around with kids.”

“That sounds nice,” she said hollowly. It did sound nice, but what she wanted was to be home. What she wanted was to never had listened to Mr. Kylre, and gotten him killed. “Mr. Stuart?” She asked, worried now. “Am I a murderer?”

“No, of course not, dear,” he replied. “What makes you say that?”

She sniffed harder, trying not to cry again. “Mr. Kylre is dead, because of me. If he didn’t love me so much, he wouldn’t have stolen me and he wouldn’t have died.”

He got off of his chair, and knelt down next to her so they were eye level. “Look at me, Toya,” he said gently. She looked. He was nice, and old, and had tired lines on his face. “You did not deserve any of what happened to you. He was shot because Mr. Tealeaf and Mr. Widogast shot him, trying to protect you. He was shot because he thought that he could steal you, and didn’t think that people would try to stop him. I don’t like violence to solve every crime, and your friends will be tried properly for it, but none of this, not a single bit, was your fault. Kylre made a bad decision, a very bad one, to kidnap you. He could have hurt you, killed you, done anything to you, and none of that would be your fault.” He stared at her. “It’s not your fault at all. Say it back to me.”

“It’s not my fault at all,” she said, her voice small.

“Good. If you get worried, just tell yourself that, and remember me telling you that. I promise you, I don’t lie to little girls.”

She tried to make a smile. It didn’t work. “Thank you, Mr. Stuart.”

“You’re welcome, Toya.” He stood up with a groan, and then the telephone rang, and he took it, sitting down with a sigh. “This is Captain Stuart speaking,” he said, and then shot up with alertness. “Oh. _Le Requin—_ ” He looked at her, and spoke in French (a language she knew quite well, Mama and Papa and Molly talked in it to her, Mama said her teachers were going to be _so_ impressed when they teach it in school). “ _Le Requin_. What are you calling for.” He sounded mad, angry, serious, all of the grownup she didn’t seen when he had spoken to her. She didn’t like it, wanted to see the kind eyes again. “What—how did you—” He glared at a space on his wall, and she looked, but there was nothing there. “I don’t know how you found out about the Kylre murder, or how you got this number—”

She could hear a teeny voice on the other side, but it sounded like a snake, like the way a snake would talk if it could talk.

“You want me to… let them _go_? I can’t possibly do that, they _murdered him_ , they _roasted_ him like a fucking turkey, I can’t just—”

There was a long silence from him, and then his face, which was white like Papa’s, turned pale, white like a sheet of paper, and he swallowed hard and said in a low voice, “Okay. They go free. But if they’re anywhere near my city again, I will throw them in jail, or kill them outright myself.”

When he hung up the phone, he took a few calming breaths and said, lightly in English, “Well, it sounds like I don’t need to send my men over with you—Mr. Tealeaf and Mr. Widogast are free to go. My boss, the mayor, just said to let them go.”

Toya didn’t call him out on the lie. Sometimes grownups lie so that they feel better about themselves, or to make kids feel better, and did it really matter anyways? Molly was free, and Caleb was too, and they could go home.

“Thank you, Mr. Stuart,” she said, and hugged him. He froze, and then hugged her back.

* * *

 

Caleb and Molly were released from jail and the handcuffs. They were told it was from a mysterious benefactor called Le Requin, or as he knew them, the Gentleman, and that he expected them back in New York within the next day. They were shortly put on the last train out, at 9:18 PM, and that they would arrive at 4:50 AM the next day.

Their stuff had been gathered for them, and even though Mollymauk was annoyed, muttering about the _rudeness_ of some people, how _dare_ they put his toothpaste anyways _near_ his cosmetics, Caleb could tell it was half-hearted, something to focus on besides everything.

Toya had clung to Mollymauk and cried half the time they waited for the train, and then the rest of the time clinging to Caleb.

He felt empty. He felt hollow and he had been sick already in the jail cell, multiple times. It was only because they were placed in the same cell that Molly had seen him like that, crying and shaking and wailing like something much, much worse had happened. Toya was safe. He had done well. He could tell himself that all he wanted, but it wasn’t true. He hadn’t done well. He had killed. He had killed, _again_.

It was near 10 PM, Toya asleep on the pullout bed that the cabin had, holding Mollymauk’s hand and a teddy that smelled like baby shit, when Molly finally spoke, his voice low.

“So,” he started. “That was a different day than I was expecting.”

Caleb nodded.

“May I ask you—”

“No.”

He had made worse than a huge mess. He was disgusting, he should have died instead of Kylre, he should have been shot instead of Mollymauk, his leg bandaged up.

A few minutes passed, and Mollymauk finally nodded. “You don’t want to tell me, that’s okay. We’re all entitled to our secrets. But Caleb? When you’re ready to talk, I’m here. I want to help you. I want to know.”

“You really, really don’t,” he said. He was irrevocably damaged, he was a shitstain upon the world, he should just jump off the Brooklyn bridge once he had delivered Toya to her parents.

“I really, really do.”

Suddenly he was sobbing, deep in his chest, and he bit it back, his frame shaking with the effort of building in that wolf that wanted to eat up him. “You don’t, Mollymauk. I’m shit. I’m the worst sort of monster that could ever be found.”

“You saved Toya with me,” he said.

Caleb shook his head, glaring at him, glaring at the low lamp that sat at the corner of their cabin. “One good thing in a lifetime of many, many bad things.”

“It can’t be all bad, Caleb, you have a good heart—”

“ _Ich war ein Soldat_. I was a soldier in the German Empire during the Great War, and I killed… so many.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments feed my soul. I know this one hurt a lot, and after we talk about what happened to Caleb, we'll have light fluffiness. We're talking Christmas. We're talking Hanukkah. We're talking Turkey Day. We're talking cuddles. We're talking ice skating and snowballs. 
> 
> And then we're gonna get some more plot.


	10. On Patrol In No Man's Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb spills his backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a doozy. Apologies for everything. 
> 
> Current warnings: suicide mentions, war mentions, flashbacks, PTSD, Caleb's backstory PLUS warmage things, Pumat Sol, the Gentleman.

Caleb shut his eyes against Molly’s openmouthed gaze, the flicker of fear, of shock, of astonishment crossing those wide eyes. _Scheisse._ Mollymauk Tealeaf would never want to see him again after this.

“Caleb, I had no idea,” he said softly. “I’m not… no, open your eyes, look at me Caleb.”

The sobs still threatened to take him, but he couldn’t chance not having a look while he still could, while he was still allowed to be in his presence, allowed to share the same space as him. Molly’s eyes were concerned, but that couldn’t be right, he was too good an actor. Molly reached out and touched Caleb’s hand, holding it carefully, loosely, and Caleb felt a tear roll down his cheek.

“Caleb. Caleb Widogast. I don’t care what happened in the past—it doesn’t matter—”

“What are you _talking_ about? Of course it matters!” He whispered back forcefully, louder than he had meant, prompting a sleepy questioning sound from Toya, sleeping next to Molly, her head in his lap.

Molly tucked her in a little more with his coat, and frowned at Caleb. “What does it matter, Caleb? The past doesn’t tell you what to do, doesn’t hold something over on you.”

Caleb laughed, a high, sardonic laugh that Mollymauk flinched at. “You don’t know what I’ve done, Mollymauk Tealeaf. You don’t know _shit_ of what I’ve done.”

“So you killed people. We’ve all done terrible things—”

“Not just soldiers,” he said. “Civilians. Innocents who tried to conspire against the Empire. My mother and father.”

Molly’s eyes widened, and he could see him shifting, farther away, and he couldn’t blame him—he wanted nothing to do with himself, too.

“How?” Molly breathed. “Why?”

Caleb let go of a deep breath, shakily, and realized his whole body was shaking. He stared at his lap, his hands twisting the edge of his coat, worn down from previous worrying. “Let me tell you the story,” he offered. “And then we’ll take Toya home, and I’ll go—who knows? Somewhere I deserve to be. Missouri? Chicago? New Jersey?” He laughed again, the awful laugh filling the hollow places of himself.

“Stop, Caleb,” Molly said. “Stop talking like this, like you’re going off to die or something and it’s something you gotta do. Just. Please.” His voice cracked, and Caleb’s eyes shot back up to see Molly’s eyes soft, pleading. “Please don’t do something stupid, like hurt yourself.”

It wasn’t quite a laugh, more a hard exhale that shook his chest. “It’d be no better than I deserve,” he replied in a low voice, and looked over at Toya, her sleeping form. “Cover her ears? Just—I don’t want her to hear any of these terrible things.”

Mollymauk tucked the coat over her ears, making sure to keep her mouth and face free, and then nodded. He leaned his elbow of the arm of the cushion, his finger poking into his cheek, retched his long legs (as much as he could with Toya on his good leg, and his recently shot one causing him to wince). “I’m ready.”

Caleb collected himself, collected the spool of the story he was still weaving, like the way he had sat at his mama’s lap and held the yarn as she knitted, told him stories of the fairies and wolves and how good little boys wouldn’t be eaten.

Now he was the wolf.

“I lived in a _Kleinstadt_ —a small town,” he began. “My mother _und_ father, they were good, hardworking people, and I was their good, hardworking son. I was going to University in Berlin, studying magic—I was quite good, you see, very good at the theories of magic.”

“I can see that,” Molly said. “That sounds just like you. Something no one else understands.”

Caleb couldn’t smile, he carried too much sad to smile, but he nodded appreciatively. “Exactly. Um.” He cleared his throat. “For years, we had had been taught in school that nothing was so important than the Empire, that we were in the right, always.” He not-laughed again, trying not to start sobbing now, he had so far to go. “When the Archduke Franz Ferndinand was killed, Germany leapt to Austria-Hungary’s defense, and we were at war.” He remembered those days, his heart pounding, everywhere he looked were calls for action, calls for aid, calls for able-bodied men and women to join the fight. “I joined the war. I wrote one letter to my parents, told them my reasons, my decisions—and then we were in the war, fighting the front lines.”

He went silent, seeing the ghosts of the people he had fought beside, joked with, and protected. Ehrler, Guttmacher, Schultz, and dozens of other names he knew but had forgotten in the heat of the battles. “They thought me a good warmage. I was very good at fire, very good, one of the best. My captain brought me up to the general, General Trent Ikithon, who took me under his wing.” He looked up at Mollymauk, still watching him raptly. “When I say he took me under his wing, it was not like that of a mother hen. He was cruel, he hurt us, made us fear him.”

“Us?”

“Two other young people, also students, also from Blumenthal.”

“Blumenthal—that’s your town, right?”

“ _Ja_ ,” he said. “I don’t believe there’s anything left of it. But I’m getting ahead of myself. When General Ikithon led us, it was like fire and glory and the hard and fast belief in the German Empire, of our right to rule by might.” He felt the old wave of battle glory swell inside him, and then breathed it out. “It was beautiful, and terrible, and awful, all at once, but I was caught in the fever, caught in their lies making me believe that this meant everything to me.”

“Governments do that.” Mollymauk shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t make you a bad person, Caleb—”

“I had been fighting hard for two years,” he continued. “Two long, hard years. I saw my friends die, I saw the enemy die, there was fire _everywhere_.” He was shaking now, the tremors that had just been small shivers building until they were wracking his body. “When I was twenty-one, we had lost some ground, and were now fighting in German soil, scrabbling for every inch, every corner. We had heard that there were French soldiers in a town nearby, and we were sent to root them out, the three of us: Eodwulf, Astrid, and I. We were,” he laughed, the high crazed-laughter he tried to keep in so long bubbling up. “We were so _good_ at finding the enemies, good at rooting them out from the villages they hid in and killing all of the villagers who hid them. We led a small team of us, of good soldiers. It was a hard fight, but we did it; some of the farmers had some men hiding in barns, and they were killed, all of them, and then we burned the houses surrounding it for good measure.” He sniffed hard and brushed away the tears, dashing them away with the butt of his hands. “It was _my_ village. The farmers were our neighbors, our family. Eodwulf didn’t care, neither did Astrid, they were the ones to point it out to me. We were in our village, and there was one more house where the enemy was rumored to be lodged, and apparently the other villagers had seen them letting men in, men who didn’t belong there. They had said it just before we killed them.” He took a deep breath. “It was my mother and father’s house. They… they begged for forgiveness, they were such kind people, Mutti always gave food to people who couldn’t afford more. They begged, and—and I killed my parents.” He was sobbing, gasping out each word like they were his lifeline. “They had sided with the enemy, Eodwulf and Astrid said, and they were right, and I was so caught up in indecision—to betray my friends and my allies and my country was a terrible crime, and my parents had betrayed theirs, and I closed my eyes and held out my hand and did it, set everything on fire, heard my parents screaming and the smell of burning bodies,” he was shouting now, weeping, screaming. “ _I killed my parents.”_

Molly held Toya, who had startled awake at the yelling, and stood up, holding her close, and moved towards the door, saying, “Oh, shit,” when Caleb shook his head—he would not bother these people any more than he had to, he had done enough damage today—and fled the cabin, trying to find the toilet in the light of the small electric lights they had installed. People called out, “ _Shut up, we’re trying to sleep in here_ ,” and other things, but he merely flinched and carried on until he could find the toilet.

He found it, finally, having to stumble the length of a car and a half, and once inside he shivered, vomited, and cried himself out. It had been a bad mistake, it was bad, he was bad, he was _garbage_ and awful and this is why Mollymauk hated him now, his outburst had ruined everyone’s sleep, everyone on the train hated him, and Toya certainly did. He needed to leave town, needed to find a new state, go by a new name. He would break his heart leaving Nott, but she was happiest in New York, with plenty of pockets to pick and Jester and Toya. Even Mollymauk was a better friend than he was.

“Excuse me?” Someone’s voice called, amidst his weak sobs and sniffling. It was a low Wisconsin voice, that cheerful and slow candor. “I’m conductor Sol, I heard of a disturbance, and I wanted to find out what was happening.”

“I’m very sorry,” he apologized, running the water suddenly and splashing his face, before opening the door to see a very large Filbog with concerned eyes looking down at him, his conductor’s suit pressed and clean. “I did not mean to make a scene.”

“Well,” he said slowly, moving as he spoke, “it seems you’ve made one! Bad night?”

“You can say that.”

“Happens to the best of us. Are you alright?”

He laughed, but thank goodness it wasn’t the crazed laughter. “No, but it is alright.”

Conductor Sol looked at him, then looked out the pitch-black window. “Seems like we’re still in Canadian soil,” he said, and slid a hand inside his jacket and pulled out a flask, which looked tiny in his ginormous hands. “Would a nip of something help?”

He laughed, shakily, and accepted it, unbottling and downing a big gulp of something fiery and hot and strong. He coughed, and handed it back to him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Anytime,” he said happily, a placid smile on his face.

“Conductor Sol,” said a very similar voice, as an identical Filbog ambled down the train corridor. “We’re looking for a ginger-haired human, name of Caleb Widogast—oh! Seems you’ve found him. Mr. Widogast, your husband is waiting for you in the cabin. Didn’t want to leave your little girl.”

My husband? “Ah,” he said, and cleared his throat. “I should be getting back.”

The second one smiled. “Do you need help walking back to your cabin?”

“Yes, please,” he said, and the two conductors walked him towards the cabin, which was the only lit one in the car.

“There you are, darling,” Molly’s voice came from behind the big man, and he squeezed between the second Conductor Sol and the wall, shimmying all the while. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you’re still alright, Caleb,” and he hugged him, hard, and then slapped his cheek softly. “Don’t you fucking scare me like that, Mr. Widogast. Thank you, sirs,” he said to the conductors.

“Anytime,” the first said.

“Anything we can do to help, just let us know,” the second one said with a cheerful, bland smile.

“I think we’ve got it,” Molly said, and thanked them again as the conductors walked down the corridor. Once they were out of range, Molly whispered in his ear, “Funny guys, aren’t they? I think I saw them earlier, but if I weren’t wide awake I’d think I was dreaming them.”

“Molly,” Caleb started to say, but Molly cut him off.  

“Luckily, your story has me wide awake, so now I want to hear the rest of it, but only if you want.” Molly stopped suddenly, and held Caleb’s face in his hands. “I don’t want you running off again. I was going to run off just so I could get Toya down again, but you—Caleb, I’m really worried about you.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Caleb muttered.

“But I am. Even with your past, as awful, terrible as it is, and I’m not going to pretend what you did was easy or good, but I’m worried about you. I care about you, Caleb Widogast, and I want you to know I would be devastated if you hurt yourself.”

He shook his head. “I’m not—”

“Caleb, I thought you threw yourself off of the train.” Molly took a shaky breath, and kissed Caleb hard before pulling back, tears in his eyes.

He was still cared for, Molly didn’t hate him, and held, like he was precious. “I wouldn’t,” he said to Molly, “because Nott and Frumpkin are not taken care of first.”

Mollymauk took a deeper breath, almost sobbing, and with a high voice, as if he were trying to hide the panic, said, “Well, let’s take care of you first. From what I’ve heard, shellshock is popular with soldiers, maybe it’s something like that? Well, almost as popular as venereal diseases.” He laughed bitterly for a moment, then sighed. “That wasn’t funny, I’m sorry, I don’t know how to handle things without laughing a bit.”

He still couldn’t quite manage a smile, but he could manage a bit of a laugh. “It’s alright. I don’t think I handle things at all.”

“Yes, you do,” Molly said, and gently carded through his hair. He leaned into the touch, realizing how long it was that he had been held, and whimpered. It seemed all his barriers were coming down now, and he felt himself tearing up again.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Mollymauk opened the cabin door, where Toya was sitting up, just about dozing before she jolted upright again.

“Mr. Widogast, Molly said you had a bad dream,” she said. “I dreamt you were screaming.”

Molly closed the door behind them, and sat down. Caleb sat down across from them, and bowed his head to the girl. “I did, Toya, and I am very sorry to have woken you up. It was my fault.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay, Mr. Widogast, we all get nightmares,” she said, reaching over precariously far to pat his knee. “Molly knows the best way to get rid of nightmares.”

“That I do,” Mollymauk chirped, grinning. “You gotta sing the ghosties away, that’s the number one way to do it.” He opened his arm and she cuddled into it, and yawned. “Now, you fall asleep, little bird, and you’ll be in your mama’s and papa’s house soon, okay?”

She nodded, sleepily, sighing the big sighs of sleepy children.

 

* * *

 

They stayed in silence for a while, before Toya was deeply asleep. During the meantime, Caleb fidgeted, and Mollymauk watched Caleb. He was clearly nervous, chewing his bottom lip and picking at his nails, and Molly didn’t know what to do with him. There were problems love could fix, and there were these kinds of problems, so deeply cracked and oozing through a person’s psyche that they would never likely be the same person they were beforehand. Molly considered Caleb as a young man. He must have been, what, 18? Just a kid, really.

He considered what he was like as a kid. Or what Lucien had done, really. He didn’t know his true age, but they guessed it was around late twenties, maybe early thirties. There were lines on his eyes that he hadn’t had before, he thought, so that was something. Whatever Lucien had squandered away was his, and in the past, whatever. But he couldn’t imagine an eighteen-year-old— _Jester’s age_ , really—doing anything that big or that scary. How important and terrible and awful it would be, and if you survived, what did you come back to?

Finally, Toya had stopped snoring so softly, had gone silent in her deep sleep, and he cleared his throat. “Caleb,” he whispered. “How did you come to America? I can’t imagine it was terribly easy.”

Caleb took a deep breath, let it all go smoothly, and slid the piece of paper he used as a bookmark in his book. “It wasn’t. I went a bit—well, I went crazy afterwards, and they dragged me from the house, they left me in a nearby village to be watched after by some old women.” He paused for a moment, and Molly wondered what he was leaving out. “I had danced with their son during his town’s spring festival, I had walked three and a half kilometers to ask him. He was dead, or fighting, I don’t remember which, but they were kind, cared for me. They should have ran then, but I didn’t think about them, all I could think of was the terrible thing I had done and that I didn’t want to fight anymore. I ran away as soon as I was, well, not better, but I could seem clear-headed. I fled to Hamberg, got a passport by—” he flicked his eyes to Toya, still asleep, but looked back to Molly, sorrow and pain clear in his face, but iron as well. “I got a passport, and made it here. It was not easy, and I lied and cheated and bartered my way over, but I knew that if I stayed there, I would have to keep killing families, people who had nothing to do with the war.”

Mollymauk nodded, slowly, thoughtfully. “You had to survive.”

“Exactly.” He closed his eyes. “I understand if you do not wish to continue our-.” He paused. “Our dalliance.”

“Dalliance?” Molly chuckled. “I think we would have had to be having naked kind of fun for it to be a dalliance. But no. Caleb—” he held out his hand, and Caleb, gingerly, took it. “Listen. I’m not going to lie, what you did was horrible, and terrible,” and Caleb’s head drooped, every hope on his face crestfallen. “But I think you are a good person now, and a kind person, and a loyal person, and that is what I like about you now. I’m hardly the person to compare pasts, but I think it’s where we are now that matters most.” I’ve never been so drawn and felt so calm too, he thought. Like a lodestone. “I like you,” he added lamely. This was a terrible substitution, watered down beer in place of whiskey. “And I would like to keep our dalliance.” He winked. “Especially if we’re having the naked kind of fun.”

Caleb blushed, but shook his head. “Are you sure, Mollymauk Tealeaf?”

“That I want you in my bed? Very much so. That I want to kiss you still? Also very much so.” He lifted Caleb’s hand and kissed his knuckles, one right after the other, noticing and now understanding why there were scars there. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

“I do not see why you want me,” he protested. “I’m… the worst kind of person.”

“No, you were. And then you chose to stop. That’s an important distinction for me.”

He took a deep breath, and smiled, just once, a very small smile. “Okay.”

“Okay!” Mollymauk wanted to lean over and kiss him, but now Toya was deep asleep and waking her again would have been the utmost of crimes. “Once we’re not in charge of a small child, I would like to kiss you, Caleb Widogast.”

“I still am not sure you do.”

“Don’t presume to know anything about me,” he said cheekily, but there was a hint of anger there too that he couldn’t quite repress. “I like you, Caleb. That’s good enough for me.”

“Then I will accept this,” he replied quietly. “And hope to earn it one day.”

“You’ve already earned it. Now, read your book to me, so I can find out why the hell people are so upset about it.”

Caleb began to read out loud, slow and soft, picking up each word as if he could break it. In his slightly rough German accent, he spoke with almost a growl, and as Mollymauk drifted asleep at the lull, he considered how Caleb would be in bed, growling at him with lust, a hint of laughter behind those blue eyes.

It was five in the morning when the train arrived in the station, and Mollymauk held Toya’s hand as they walked off the train and into the terminal. She yawned and rubbed her eyes with her other hand, and her dark thoughtful eyes looked everywhere, watching Caleb and himself and then looking out to the terminal, when she grinned. A small crowd of musicians, crew, and bartenders—his _troupe—_ waited for them, and cheered as they saw their trio. Orna and Gustav were in the front, breaking away from the crowd at a run, and Toya slipped out of his hand and sprinted to her mom and pop, all of them sobbing together, holding on so tightly. Caleb sighed behind him, and when Molly looked around, he was smiling, faintly.

“It was all worth it,” he said to Molly’s answering smile.

“It was,” he said, and wrapped his arms around Caleb’s neck and kissed him, in front of the whole crew and everybody, deep and meaningful, and Caleb smiled against the kiss and kissed back, dropping his and Molly’s bag to wrap up around him too.

They kissed for a minute longer before Fjord was heard coughing next to them. “Come on, yall, break it up, not in public like this,” and they broke it, gasping for breath and grinning. Caleb’s eyes were unfocused, and he coughed and shook his head to look to Orna, who was saying, “thank you, thank you, _thank you_ ,” repeatedly, holding onto her daughter’s tiny frame and crying.

Gustav straightened and shook his and Caleb’s hands multiple times, crying as well. “You saved her, you saved our girl, I’m so grateful, we’re so grateful, you gave us back our little _girl_.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Caleb said. “I’m glad we could have helped her.”

“Me too—I do want to hear the whole story,” he said, fishing in his pocket. “But it’ll have to be another time, it’s been a long damn weekend for us.” He withdrew a yellow envelope and handed it to Caleb. “Here is all the money we could spare—all of us, everyone gave something to the pot, it came out to about one hundred and fifty dollars, everything we could spare,” and he was crying again, harder, handing the envelope out.

Molly would have thought that this was an easy decision, but Caleb hesitated. “You know I did this for free, right? I did not do this for money. This was too important.”  

“Of course, of course, I knew you did, but listen, we’re so grateful, and we knew that you’re having some trouble with your rent, and we thought it’d be a good idea.” Gustav placed the envelope in Caleb’s hand. “Please.”

Caleb nodded silently, and pocketed the envelope. “Thank you, Gustav.” And then like a cannonball Nott was hurtling towards him, hugging his knees and glaring up at him, and he smiled and said, “Hello Nott.” It was a beautiful, good smile, and Molly’s heart flipped seeing it.

“YOU DIDN’T CALL! YOU DIDN’T WRITE!! I THOUGHT YOU DIED!” She shouted. “DON’T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN TO ME, MISTER.”

“ _Ja, ja, Mutti_ ,” he replied, and chuckled. “Let’s go home, _ja_?”

“ _Ja_ ,” she replied, her attempt making the word elongated and lumpy. She yawned hugely. “It’s been a long night.”

“It has been,” Caleb agreed, and turned to Molly. “May I…” he started, then stopped.

“May you kiss me? Yes.” He grinned, and leaned over, pecking him on the lips. He pecked back, but now they were surrounded by people asking questions and talking at them, and Nott trying to pull Caleb outside, but he was stubborn as a mule.

“No,” he said, but smiled. “Not what I was going to ask. May I call on you later? Tomorrow? Or the next day?”

“Yes,” Mollymauk said, oddly touched by his almost-too formal manners. “You may.”

“Then I will in two days,” he said, and smiled at Mollymauk, and he felt that smile right through his heart. He felt, oddly, that that smile was just for him, and him alone, and then he was gone, replaced by the band and the troupe and Jester begging him for details.

It was too early for whiskey, and too late for coffee, but Mollymauk heard no rules against mimosas, and so they were all surrounding him as they sipped their own mimosas and listened, Jester in Fjord’s lap (which was a update to their earlier arrangment, Beau in a backwards chair, Yasha leaning on the wall, bandmembers crowded around. Orna and Gustav had taken Toya home, and told them that drinks were on the house today and tonight. “So there we were, on his doorstep when we see the big fucking ugly goon and his mother, and Toya, like they were a family on their Sunday stroll, with fucking egg creams.”

“I always knew that fucker was up to no good,” Beau said, sipping her whiskey, who clearly didn’t care about any societal rules. “Always asking about kids, man. He’s creepy.”

“He _was_ creepy,” Molly said. “Caleb and I, we chased down the ugly mug, he was carrying Toya like a sack of potatoes, and he burned powder and shot at us, and we cornered him in this little hut, see, and we cut him down quick and easy, just like that.”

“But why did Toya go with him?” Jester asked. She leaned on the table with her elbows, her hands propping up her chin. “That’s not like her.”

“No, he had her under some sort of spell, she kept calling him her daddy, like she had forgotten Gustav and Orna.”

“That’s awful,” Yasha said quietly. “Can you imagine?”

“I can, now. But it’s all okay, she’s home safe and we’re home safe. Well. I got a bit shot, but it was more a graze.”

“You got _shot_?” Beau and Jester said, both with glee. “That’s so _cool_ ,” Jester added.

Molly revealed his thigh, and the lumpy bandage underneath his red trousers. “I’ll be limping for a while, but the doctors expected me to heal me quick. Damn good doctors they have there.”

“But you killed a man,” Fjord said. “On foreign soil. How did you get out?”

Molly leaned into the table, and lowered his voice, pleased when everyone else leaned in closer too. “The Gentleman got us out. I don’t know how,” he said to all the gasps. “But he got us out, and he expected us back home today.”

“Why?” Fjord asked again. One of his arms was wrapped around Jester’s generous belly, the other holding his own beer.

“I have no idea,” he said honestly. “But I assume we’ll find out soon.”

Mollymauk was driven home, and once he was in his own suite, he sighed, and dropped his bags in the middle of the living room. He collapsed immediately in his own bed, nice and tipsy enough to be drowsy. He was almost asleep when his phone rang. He grumbled and reached over to his bedside table, and picked it up.

“’Ello?”

“Mr. Tealeaf,” a man’s voice said. He sounded smooth, too smooth, and unfamiliar. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Yes? Who’s this?”

“This is the Gentleman. I have a proposition for you and the Fletchings. May I see you and the couple day after next? I understand you will want to rest after your time in Montreal.”

He shot straight up as he heard this. “Why? What do you want?”

“I’d prefer to tell you in person. Two o’clock in the afternoon, on Wednesday. I will be informing your business partners as well. I will explain everything then.”

Mollymauk gulped. “Should we bring Widogast in this?”

The Gentleman paused. “No, I don’t think so. He’ll pay his debt to me in some other way. Getting murderers off free doesn’t come cheap, you know.” He laughed, as if that was a normal situation.

“No, I don’t suppose it does.” He paused. “Two o’clock on Wednesday. Where?”

“In your club, of course,” the Gentleman said, and then added, “Good night, Mr. Tealeaf,” before hanging up, the line going dead in Mollymauk’s ear.

 _Shit_.


	11. Better Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the encouragement and help over the months!! I'm so glad you all liked it!

 

Caleb fell into bed at nearly 7 in the morning, having barely shrugged off his coat and his boots, and slept deeply and soundly, dreaming of blessed coolness and peace. When he woke, bleary eyed, the light of the sunset bathed his apartment in oranges and reds. He sat up, realizing that he was tucked in and that Nott was sleeping next to him, curled beside him on top of the covers like an apostrophe. He smiled wanly and tried to slip out of the bed without waking her. But as soon as he had turned to put his feet on the ground, she muttered, “Caleb?”

“Ah, sorry for waking you,  _ Liebling _ ,” he said, looking over his shoulder back at her.

“No, no, I was already awake,” she said, yawning deeply. “It was a long night for both of us. We stayed up at the club, partying. Well, they partied; I mostly worried by the phone. You didn’t call us!”

“Ah, sorry, Nott,” he said. “I really wish I had called ahead before the police did.”

“What happened? We heard a bit of it, but it was so late last night.”

“It was more like this morning,” he teased. “Let me relieve myself, and then I’ll tell you everything,  _ ja _ ?”

“ _ Ja _ , but you better fucking spill. Because the way I heard it, you went into a gunfight  _ without me _ , and Molly got shot.”

“Not exactly wrong,” he admitted but stood up, his joints aching from the massive amount of running and spellcasting he had done—oh, he was out of fighting shape to be sure—and walked to the bathroom.

They got breakfast at a greasy spoon at roughly 7 o’clock—Caleb was flush with money from the Fletchings; they could afford it—and he told her everything, from their detective work to finding Kylre and Toya, to killing Kylre, to the police, to the train. “I told him everything,” he said softly, so much so that Nott had to lean in, even with her large ears. “About my past.”

Her eyes widened. He had told her, of course he had, but they were two vulnerable creatures, made of broken dreams and jagged edges, sticking together for survival. “Are you sure that’s  _ safe _ ? Mollymauk is so…”

“Flippant? Arrogant? Profane?” He was smiling; he couldn’t help it. “I know.”

“But you love him.” As always, her big eyes saw everything. And with that, she grinned crookedly.

“ _ Nein _ ! No, I don’t—it’s too early, Nott, much too early to say I love him.” He blushed and hid his smile against the coffee cup. “It is far too early to tell, Nott, but I do like him. And I… I trust him.”

“If you trust him, I trust him,” she replied, sipping her own coffee, heavily laced with her stash of bourbon. “But if he hurts you, I’ll stab his balls.”

Caleb choked on his coffee, much to Nott’s amusement. “Please don’t stab him in the balls, Nott. I don’t expect him to hurt me—” To his surprise, this felt true. “—But I don’t want him injured.”

“Fine, I'll only do it if you want me to,” she replied, beaming.

* * *

 

Mollymauk snoozed the next day, called the Fletchings, and informed them about the Gentleman. And then the day after that, figuring he was fucking due for some self care, he snoozed some more. He was groggy as all hell. His injury was still sore, but they had had some good healers over in Canada who were able to pull the bullet out, sew him up, and heal him quickly. Tuesday, having eaten a nice lunch and feeling like some company, he spread out lazily on his chaise lounge, wearing only his silk robe, and dialed Caleb’s number. “Good morning,” he said when Caleb answered.

“Mollymauk, it is seven at night.” He sounded tired but mildly amused.

“Is it  _ really _ ?” He asked, looking out his windows at the night skyline. “Huh. Would you look at that.”

Caleb chuckled over the phone, and Molly reveled in it.

“Say, Caleb, I wanted to ask you about your weekend plans.”

“I… don’t think I have any, at the moment. I was planning on relaxing, maybe taking some work on Sunday. Finding old letters, that sort of thing.”

“Well. What if, instead, I take you to the best dinner you’ve ever had?”

Caleb snorted again, that half-laugh that Molly had become fond of. “I have not had many good dinners in a while.”

“No, I don’t expect you have. So we’re gonna do it nice. I’ll find something German—don’t worry about dressing up, I want you to be as comfortable as possible. Then we can come back to my place, have some wine, and see where the night takes us?”

There was a pause on the line, and Molly worried for a moment before Caleb replied, “That sounds… good. I would like to have this conversation with you in person, about what happens after the wine.”

“Oh. Is Nott with you?”

“…Yes.”

“Fair enough. Tell her hi for me. I’ll pick you up at seven; sound good?”

“ _ Ja _ ,” he said. “I’m… excited to see you again.”

“Oh, blimey, love, you don’t need to wait to see me. I work tomorrow; come by anytime. Well, after nine or so?”

“Alright. See you soon, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

“See you soon, handsome.”

Molly hung up the phone and smiled to himself, considering the after-the-wine, and took to bed, needing to get as much sleep in him as possible for the next day. And if he ruminated on Caleb a bit longer than absolutely necessary, well, he wouldn’t kiss and tell.

On the designated Wednesday, he chose a polished wooden cane for the meeting with the Gentleman, a bright green coat with tails, a purple hat, purple trousers, and, of course, all the necklaces and tail and horn jewelry he could muster without being gaudy. It was probably too much, but he didn’t care. To see the Gentleman, he would need all his lucky charms.

He left for the jazz club, keeping his head held high and his back straight. He would not show weakness, even a momentary one, on the way there. This man was clearly dangerous and wily, but Molly was just as terrifying. (Maybe.) He wondered, as he nodded pleasantly to Jeremy, the kid at the counter, and made his way downstairs to the speakeasy, whether or not he should have told Caleb about it. Surely he was fine without knowing the intimate affairs of the business Gustav, Orna, and Molly had together.

He found the two waiting already, looking up expectantly as he appeared and then frowning. Orna was going over the bills, he saw, but she was always going over the bills. Gustav was chewing the corner of his thumbnail, a nervous tic only reserved for the  _ truly _ stressful situations. “Good evening, folks,” Molly said cheerfully, putting down his hat on a table and leaning on his cane as though he were about to spring into a tapdance number.

“Molly, what did the Gentleman say,  _ exactly _ ,” Orna snapped, looking up from the bills, without a greeting.

“Just that we were to meet him here, at two o’clock, and that it was something about the business.” He paused. “Something about getting me off free.”

“You think he’s going to hold you over us?” Gustav asked nervously.

“He said getting murderers off wasn’t cheap,” Molly quoted, and his tail whipped back and forth, showing his own agitation. “Look, if it comes to it, I’ll go back to jail, we can’t let him own us and steal the business.”

Gustav and Orna looked to each other. “Actually,” Gustav said gingerly, “we were thinking about giving up the business. It’s ruining our family.” He looped an arm around Orna’s shoulders.

“We’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Orna said. “And now, especially—it’s not a good place for Toya to be in.” She took a steadying breath, and squared her shoulders. “I can’t lose my baby girl like that again.”

“With luck you won’t have to,” someone said behind them, and they turned to see a man, light blue in color, looking sweaty but composed. He spoke with a clipped accent, clearly seeming to be made of richer stuff than themselves. “I’m glad you acquiesced to my suggestion. I would not have wanted to be forced to chase you all down. Please, will you sit?”

“You’re the Gentleman?” asked Orna sharply, holding onto her husband.

“That I am,” he said, and he gestured to a table that did not have chairs on top for the cleaning crew. “You are Orna Fletching  née Moondrop, you are Gustav Fletching, and you, Mollymauk Tealeaf, are the reason for our meeting. Please. Sit down. I’m a very busy man, and I have a lot to get through today.”

Gustav and Orna looked to each other, then to Molly, and nodded before sitting down to face the Gentleman, all three of them facing him on the other side. “Now. I assume you didn’t tell your lover about this, Mr. Tealeaf?”

“How did you—”

“I have my sources. Did you tell our Mr. Widogast?”

“I did not,” he replied in a clipped tone. He was getting angry, and things were not going to be good for anyone if he did.

“Good. He’ll have his own bargain with me, just not yet. Meeting you three seemed more important.” He looked at the couple and then to Molly, his yellow eyes blinking and boring into him. “I have come to offer you a deal,” he said, turning back to stare at the Fletchings. “Give me the business, and I will set you up in a nice place in Brooklyn, with good jobs for both of you and a place where Toya will be safe.”

Orna stiffened at her daughter’s name and clearly glared at the Gentleman. “Is that a fucking threat?” She hissed.

“No, that was actually a guarantee. A fucking threat is threatening to call the police right now, about three undocumented immigrants, one of whom murdered a man just over the weekend. But I would like very much to not do that,” he said, opening his palms up in a placating manner. “Everyone would lose in that turn, and we would lose the business.”

“You can’t use me as a bargaining chip,” Molly said loudly, standing up, looking for all the world that he could do such a thing, even if the idea made him nauseated. “If you force them into that choice, I’ll turn myself into the police right now.”

“Sit down, Mollymauk,” the Gentleman said, nonplussed. “Why ruin something everyone wants? I want the speakeasy. Orna and Gustav want their family to be safe and provided for.”

“Sit down,” Gustav added, tugging at his jacket. “He’s right. I would, well, I’d love that, personally,” he said, and turned to his wife. “What do you think?”

“What jobs are you giving us?” Orna demanded, crossing her arms. “I won’t be a maid again.”

“No, of course not. Both of you will be working jobs that fit your personalities. Gustav, you’ll be the manager of the Lyceum Theater. They’re currently doing a run of  _ Naughty Cinderella. _ ”

Gustav’s eyes widened, and he gripped his wife’s hand on the table.

“And Orna, you’ll be an accountant at the Firns and Sons law firm. I think you’ll find yourself both aptly suited for the challenges.”

Orna nodded, but clearly the one who was most excited was Gustav, who tried to hide his grin.

“As for you, Mollymauk. You’ll be staying here in the Fletching and Moondrop Speakeasy.”

“That’s fine by me, I don’t think I have any other marketable skills.” He shrugged and leaned in closer. “You’re giving us so much, but not getting anything back besides the speakeasy. What are you getting out of it?”

“The speakeasy is its own rewards. It’s in a prime location, with all the artists and writers living here, as well as a good central operation if I need a second,” he said and then stared at Mollymauk again. “I think it’s more than fair of a bargain. Now, you three go talk it out, and I’ll be waiting right here.”

It was a non-decision, really, but they rose and discussed it, Orna and Gustav needing little more than “so we’re doing this?” and a brief nod. They returned to the table, and Orna cleared her throat before nodding. “The terms are acceptable,” she said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Fletching. You truly are a marvelous woman. I expect you out of the speakeasy and the apartments by Friday. Your jobs, instructions, and house will be waiting for you on 63 East Hill Field Road. As for you, Mollymauk, I have some routines I’d like you to play out for me, but the new house manager will tell you about those. Just be ready to adapt.”

The Gentleman left as suddenly as he arrived, leaving the three looking at each other, dumbfounded.

Once informed of the news, the performers celebrated and well-wished the Fletching family on their last day. But each of them looked to each other nervously, as if thinking the same thing: What was to be expected to them, to the speakeasy, to their jobs, to their large and loud found family?

Change happened fast. And as everyone found out they would be losing their stage manager and boss, there were many worries and tears. A half-elf named Kara showed up that night and asked to be shown the ropes of managing, which Gustav took over as frantically as he always had. On the Fletchings’ last day of managing, Caleb and Nott came, and Nott kissed Toya’s cheeks and promised she would make Caleb drive her out to see her. Whereas Caleb gave half-smiles to their assertions that they were so grateful, so endlessly grateful. Gustav added that of  _ course _ they’re welcome, any time, and Orna even smiled.

Mollymauk, of course, was only listening, watching so he could get Caleb alone, while performing his rote dances and songs. It was all second-nature to him, anyways—he could perform in his sleep. Acting and schmoozing and flirting was as easy as breathing to him—but he wanted to catch his… what were they? Not that it mattered, exactly; he was hardly one for labels, but he felt that Caleb was not just one of his flings. There was something steadying about the man, serious and grave as he was, and Molly felt like a moth attracted to light. The solemn man was, well, he wasn’t calming, but he was clear-headed, and that clarity was something Molly adored. (Loved.) No,  _ adored _ . The man’s story was hard to listen to, it was true. But it was clear that he was not the same person who had done those terrible things. He was dangerous (sexily so, if Molly might say), but he was also more careful about his actions. Molly didn’t know what he felt, exactly, as much as he knew that he was attracted to him like a force of nature—a bird landing on the ground after a long flight, wings sore, relieved to not have to carry himself through a tumult.

Molly’s set ended, and Yasha squeezed his arm as she went on stage after him. He found Caleb waiting in the backstage area, trying to be inconspicuous. It didn’t work.

“Caleb!” Jester said, bouncing up to him. “You were  _ so  _ incredibly  _ brave _ , saving Toya. We’re so glad you decided to date Mollymauk and stick around here!”

“I’m… I would have done it even if we weren’t, as you say, dating,” Caleb objected, a little blush on his ears.

“Yeah, but you were the first person we called because we knew you were good because you’ve been hanging around here, trying to steal kisses from Moooolllyyyy,” she replied, her tail whipping back and forth in excitement. “And then you saved Toyyyya!”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Molly asked, barging in and sliding next to Caleb. He wanted to kiss him, but he felt Caleb wouldn’t appreciate it. So he winked to him instead.

“Well, Caleb is a  _ wizard _ , and what do you do, Molly?” She retorted.

Molly batted at her playfully, and she batted back, miming two cats having a hissy fit, and then she laughed. “I’ll leave you two aloooooone,” she said. “I recommend the storage room for blowjobs; it’s perfect.” And she left, skipping away to her next set.

“Good idea,” Molly said and carefully took Caleb’s hand, glad when he leaned into the touch as well.

“I’m not willing to do that in public,” Caleb replied in deadpan, but there was a little glow of interest in his eyes. At least, Molly thought there was.

“No, I figured you wouldn’t. But hey, I found a real good place called Luchow’s, smack in the middle of Kleindeutschland. Would you be down?”

Caleb’s eyes widened. “I’ve seen it but never gone in,” he said.

“Then this is the perfect time,” Molly said. “Sounds and looks good. You can tell me what all the menus are saying, I can point out all the famous folk, and we’ll have a grand time.”

Caleb considered this for a while before he gingerly smiled. And, gods, it was a beautiful smile. Molly’s heart swelled, soft and sensitive like a bruise, but in a good way. The best way. And he wondered why no one ever sang about falling in love like this. But then Caleb’s face turned grave again, and he asked, “Molly, are you sure that you do not mind this? Are you sure you want this, even through everything I’ve done?”

Molly’s heart sank for Caleb. “Of course, my dear. You’re a different man than you were then. I know that you could never do the same now—” and at the small intake of breath, he knew he was right about Caleb all along. “See? You could never be that person again. You’re a good man now, Caleb. And to me, that’s all I need to know.”

“Thank you, Mollymauk,” the human said softly, meaningfully. And then, in front of gods and everybody, Caleb leaned in and kissed him, as careful as a newborn kitten, and everything in Mollymauk seemed to come alive all at once. But Molly held himself back—no reason to scare the man—and kissed him in return, just as gingerly, but feeling his breath and kissing his lips and finding the man so fucking addictive, wanting more and more. But Caleb pulled back first, and he would not make him uncomfortable. But, damned it all, he wanted Caleb for a hundred years, maybe more. Molly’s eyes fluttered open, and Caleb was smiling back, even  _ grinning _ , and gods that was the most delicious thing he could think of. They both shared a grin before Caleb asked, “Seven tomorrow?”

“What?” Molly asked and then shook his head. “Sorry; my mind went full blank. Yes, seven.”

“This is my address,” Caleb replied and handed him a little card with worn edges that read “Widogast Investigation” with an address and phone number. “I’ll see you then?”

“Yes! Absolutely! And don’t worry about dressing up over dinner; I won’t bother either.”

The next evening, however, Mollymauk paced around his lavishly decorated bedroom and huffed at his reflection. None of his clothes were exactly on par with Caleb’s style, but he also wanted to look good, gods damn it. He finally chose an emerald suit with a deep rich purple tie, still choosing his cane. (The leg was much better now, but he had gotten used to the look and, especially, mock hitting Jester. He had tried to mock hit Yasha, but Yash threatened to snap it in half if he even swung it in her direction, and shove it up his ass. And he loved and trusted his friend enough to know she absolutely would).

Molly hailed a taxi and gave the man the address before carefully putting it back in his wallet for good luck. He tried to consider how many dates it had been, really. First, the date that Caleb wasn’t convinced was a date... did that count? And then the date that Jester and Nott set up for them—was that two? Or one? Or none? And then the trek to Canada and back. Gods. Was this the first date or the fourth?

Never mind. Whether or not it was their first or fourth or even hundredth, he was excited.

The taxi pulled up to a tall brick building, and he thanked the cabbie, tipped well, and walked in. The lobby was small but functional, if a little worn, and the elevator smelled distinctly of city piss. Somehow, he hadn’t considered where Caleb would actually have lived, really. But it didn’t surprise him terribly that he didn’t live in at least a clean building. He idly wondered if he should move Caleb into one of the apartments in Molly’s building but shook his head of the idea—that would be too overreaching, even for him. Still, as he found the hallway and smelled the strong stench of too many people in apartments, loud and overpowering, he wondered if he could help him to move anywhere else.

But alas, no time soon, to be sure.

He found the room number on Caleb’s card. And, taking a moment to brush back his hair in the most pleasing way possible, he knocked on the door.

Nott opened it immediately, grinning as she shouted, “CALEB, your PARAMOUR is here!”

“Nott!” He heard a shout, and then Caleb was peering through the crack in the door, looking freshly showered. “Forgive me; I’m still running late. Come in?”

“Of course,” he said and grinned at Nott when she opened the door for him. Caleb rushed to the bathroom and closed the door. “I came early; I didn’t know how traffic was going to be,” he lied and looked around. It was a studio apartment, and tiny one at that, with a small desk off to the side, but books were everywhere, neatly lining the walls in piles. There was a very stained couch, a blanket crumpled on one side, and the world’s smallest kitchenette. And there was a cat on the single bed, which also surprised-not-surprised Mollymauk. It stared at him with unwavering eyes. “Who is this?”

“Frumpkin,” Nott replied. “He’s Caleb’s pet. He’s nice.”

“He looks nice,” he said and walked over to let the cat sniff his hand. And then when he accepted the offering, Molly stroked him, causing him to purr. “Good cat.”

“Caleb loves him. He keeps trying to bring him out, but he’s not so good with other people and all the noise—plus, if he got lost, Caleb would be devastated, I’m sure.”

“I can see that,” Molly replied and nodded to her. “So, what about you, Nott? How are you doing?”

“Doing alright. I’m glad you brought Caleb back in one piece; he told me everything, said you helped a lot.” She glanced at the closed door and then leaped on top of the bed to come to (almost) eye level, revealing a small blade. “If you hurt Caleb, I will gut you, you hear me?”

“I’m not… listen, didn’t we already do this? I thought you liked me?”

“I like you if Caleb is happy,” she said, her large eyes narrowed. “If you make him cry, I will  _ gut _ you.”

“You’ve already said that, love,” he said and kissed her on the forehead, ignoring the knife. “I very much won’t, but not because you’re going to gut me. I quite like him. And I think I like being called his paramour, but that’s a bit old-fashioned, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. “Caleb has been reading books out loud to me to help me read,” she said. “I figured that would make him blush.”

“You’re a firecracker, and I think I love you,” he said and looked around the room. “Who sleeps where?”

“Caleb takes the bed,” she said, moving to sit next to Frumpkin, whose attentions could be bought by a nice scratch behind the ears, it seemed. “And I take the couch.”

Molly hummed, not voicing what he thought at all, but the man needed space, and so did she, and all of his books did too. Idly, Molly considered getting a house, just for the three of them (for there would be no leaving of Nott), a big library for Caleb with dark, cool rooms, all his own loudness and colors in every other part of the house, and Nott with… hell, whatever the hell she wanted. (Probably a garage to set things on fire, but his fantasy didn’t involve fires usually.)

“Okay, I’m ready,” Caleb said, exiting the bathroom. He looked… nice. He looked  _ real _ nice. He was in a tuxedo, badly fitted but not too badly, his hair slicked back from the shower and shaved.

Molly stared at him, slack-jawed, until Caleb shifted nervously, and then Molly remembered how to use  _ words _ again. “My gods,” he breathed, and Caleb’s shoulders tensed again. “You’re breathtaking, Widogast.”

He laughed nervously and looked down at himself. “I am not so fancy as yourself,” he said. “And my shoes, they are the same shoes I wear everywhere.”

“Gods, you’re handsome. You put the moon to shame, Caleb,” he said and walked up to him, ignoring Nott and Frumpkin and cupping Caleb’s face, looking at those beautiful blue eyes before the man smiled and nodded and Molly kissed him, eyes fluttering closed, and the kiss was just as good as the one before, even better now that Caleb was kissing back, chasing his mouth with his own, and there was that truly addictive quality to him, and Molly moaned in his throat; he couldn’t help it—

“EW,” Nott called out. “I’m  _ right here!” _

They broke apart, gasping, both of them blushing and looking to Nott. Molly giggled, and Caleb grinned back before they took a step back from each other. “Well, I suppose we should leave and kiss each other somewhere else,” Molly commented.

“Please,” Nott insisted.

“Nott, be good, call us if you need anything. We’ll be at Luchow’s and then Molly’s apartment. I wrote down the numbers for you.”

“Yes, you’ve told me this,” she said. “Have a good night, boys. Mollymauk, treat my boy well. I’m not waiting up for you two—don’t do anything Jester wouldn’t do!”

“Haha,” Molly retorted and winked at Caleb. “Take care, Nott.”

Caleb drove them to the restaurant, and Molly was thrilled to find the reputation of lavish dining rooms and celebrities was true. He pointed out people to Caleb as they sat down, and Caleb informed him of the best dishes, explained what they were, and recommended a few different ones.

They were waiting for their meal when Molly glanced around the room and looked back to see Caleb, tense. He was getting better at reading him, he thought. “Anything the matter?”

“ _ Nein _ , no, I was just worried that I am not nearly as fancy as the rest of the people here.” He laughed bitterly. “I know I am not.”

“But you’re with me, and I’m as fancy as these fuckers here,” Molly replied. “So really, don’t you worry about them. Luckily, I’ve gone toe-to-toe with at least half of the people in here.”

Caleb laughed. “I know. I’ve read about these encounters in the paper.”

Molly grinned, revealing his canines. “Then you know how fierce I am, and you know me well enough to know that I protect my people. And you, Caleb Widogast, are one of my people.”

Caleb laughed, but his shoulders did relax, and all in all, they had a lovely time, talking about the weather and New York and what books Caleb had read recently (still plucking furiously away at  _ Ulysses _ ) and what songs Molly had begun rehearsing (“Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue” and “The Way You Look Tonight”). It was nice, delightful even, with a few small jokes, and gods, this was perfect. Molly was surprised how quickly the time flew by. He grabbed the check, to Caleb’s sudden consternation, but Caleb left a good tip besides, apparently flush with money now. They left in good humor, and as Caleb drove them to Molly’s apartment building, Molly couldn’t help but look at the man: how the streetlamps showed the beauty in his jaw, how wavy his hair was after a good shower, how heartstoppingly beautiful his mouth was, especially when he smiled. Molly could list any number of things he wanted Caleb to do with that mouth, not least of which was smile.

Molly directed him to the parking garage, waved to the attendant who grinned when he saw them, and then led him upstairs. He had been chilling a good white all night for this—although he also had a red, if he was so inclined. Shit, Molly should have smuggled a beer for the man instead. Ah, too late now. Later, if there was going to be a later (and he so hoped there would be), he would make sure to keep Caleb’s choice of liquor at his apartment.

When Caleb entered the apartment for the second time, he seemed more defended against the symphony of colors that Molly had carefully crafted. Okay, it was a hodge-podge, but Molly  _ loved _ it, loved the riot of colors and textures around him. Caleb, however, looked a little intimidated, so Molly busied himself with getting wine—let Caleb be comfortable at his own pace. “Darling, do you want red or white?”

“Red,  _ bitte _ !”

“Donka!”

“ _ Nein _ , no o. It’s  _ danke _ .”

“Dahnke?”

“Closer,” he said, and when Molly returned from the kitchen, Caleb was gently petting the red faux-fur blanket on the yellow couch.

“Soft, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Caleb replied and smiled at him, but it was a tense smile, the smile of someone who is worried about something.

“What’s wrong?” Molly handed him the glass of wine and motioned Caleb to sit, which he did, but only as an afterthought.

“Nothing is wrong. I just... I don’t know the expectations of what is going to happen tonight, and I do not like the idea of not knowing what is going to happen. It does not give me time to plan, time to consider it.”

“Caleb, love,” Molly said, putting down the wine glass on the white table. “There are no expectations. Well, no, I expect that we’ll have a lovely time, but that’s not what I mean. Whether or not we dance in the bedroom tonight is entirely up to you. I would be more than willing to do so, but I’m also very willing to talk until two in the morning and share a few laughs with you. That’s all. It’s your choice.”

Caleb paused. “May I have time to consider it?”

“Of course! Hell, if you want to consider it for weeks, I wouldn’t mind. I’ve got a hand, don’t I? All I want is for you to feel good with me.” He grinned. “And I’d like it if we felt good together, but again, your choice.”  

Caleb shoulders unstiffened, and he took a deep breath. “Thank you, Mollymauk. May I kiss you? Is that allowed?”

“ _ Gods _ , it’s encouraged.” And Caleb moved against him, gentle and sweet and good, and they forgot the wine altogether.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I /may/ come back to this, but considering how long it took me to write this chapter, that might be a long time indeed. In the meantime, Caleb and Molly are happy, everyone is safe, and nothing bad happened this chapter. We can all get some well deserved sleep. 
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who has helped and supported me, including CodeSculptor1 who beta'd this chapter. Thank you to the Widomauk server, thank you to everyone, and thank you to my girlfriend, who had to listen to me complain about research. A lot.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm playing the long game here. I'm sorry.


End file.
